The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “Yes, he is all alone,” remarked Howard, in response to the statement that Tim had made on first seeing the fire. “But he has no gun, so far as I can see.”

  “Has he anything to eat?” inquired Elwood. “For that is getting to be the most important matter.”

  “There doesn’t appear to be any.”

  “Jist howld still where you baas, till I takes a look around,” said Tim, with an admonitory wave of the hand.

  They obeyed while he went still nearer on tiptoe. When he was scarcely twenty feet away he paused, and stooping down and bending his head first to one side and then to the other, and raising and arching his neck until his longitudinal dimensions became fearful, he at last satisfied himself that the Indian was alone.

  Without moving his feet, Tim now turned his head and motioned for his companions to join him. They did so very carefully and silently, and the three men then stood where the light of the fire shone full in their faces, and where they could not help being the first objects the Indian would see when he was pleased to look up.

  “We’ll have to wake him,” whispered Tim, “and shall I yill, or hit him with a stone on top of the head?”

  “Neither; I have heard that the slumber of Indians is very light, and if you just speak or make a slight noise I have no doubt it will rouse him.”

  The fire, which had at its first kindling been large, was now smouldering as though it had not been touched for several hours. The Indian was seated on a large stone, his arms hanging listlessly over his knees, and his head sunk so low that his features could not be seen. Instead of the defiant scalp-lock drooping from his crown, his hair was long and luxuriant, and plentifully mixed with gray. It hung loosely over his shoulders, and in front of his face, and helped to give him a strange, repulsive appearance.

  “I say, owld gintleman, are you draaming, or—”

  As quick as lightning the head of the Indian flashed up, and his black eyes were centered with a look of alarm upon the individuals before him. Tim had had some experience with these people when a miner, and he now began making signs to the savage, who seemed on the point of springing up and darting away. Naturally enough the Irishman continued talking, although it was certain that the one could not understand a word the other uttered.

  “We maan no harrum,” said the Irishman, raising his hands and letting them fall at his side, to show that he carried no weapons, and held good will toward the stranger. The boys judged it best to imitate their comrade; and after standing a few moments, the three walked quietly up to the fire. The startled Indian instantly rose to his feet and placed his hand upon the haft of a large knife at his waist.

  “None of that, ye spalpeen, or I’ll smash you to smithereens!” said Tim, who, although his words were of such dire portent, spoke as gently as if he were seeking to quiet an infant.

  They now noticed that the Indian was very old. His face was scarred and wrinkled, his body bent, and his limbs tottered as if scarcely able to bear his weight; but his eye was as keen and defiant as the eagle’s, and he stood ready to defend himself if harm were offered him.

  Tim did the most prudent thing possible. He advanced straight to the savage and offered his hand. This means of salutation was understood by the latter, who, after some tottering hesitation, raised his right hand from the knife and returned the pressure. Dropping it, he looked toward Elwood and Howard, who saluted him in the same manner, and the parties were now satisfied regarding the feelings of each other.

  “Ask him for something to eat!” said Elwood; “I am beginning to feel faint for the want of food.”

  “What good will the same do? He hasn’t anything to give.”

  “He must live some way himself, and what will support such an old man as he is, is surely good for us.”

  The signs that Tim now made were unmistakable in their import. He opened his huge mouth until the cavern was fearful to contemplate; then he snapped his teeth together like a dog that has failed to catch a piece of meat thrown to him; after which he carried his hand back and forth to his mouth, and opened and shut it again.

  The Indian watched these manuevers a moment, and then gave an exclamation intended solely for his own benefit—and which, therefore, it is not necessary to give, if we could, and we can’t—and turning his back, commenced moving away with the feeble, uncertain gait of old age.

  “What does that mean?” inquired Howard.

  The savage, seeing they did not follow, paused and looked back.

  “That is an invitation,” said Tim; “do yees foller.”

  “But where will he lead us?”

  “How can I tell?”

  “But it may be into danger,” admonished the most cautious Howard.

  “It’s the only chance we’ve got to save ourselves from starving, and for me getting a shmoke out of a pipe, which I am as hungry for as I am for a few pounds of mate.”

  The three, the Irishman taking the lead, did not hesitate longer, but stepped forward, and the Indian immediately resumed his guidance. The boys could not avoid some alarm and misgiving in thus following blindly an Indian whom they had not seen until a few minutes before, and who, they had every reason to believe, was hostile; but there seemed no other course, and they obeyed the suggestion of Tim O’Rooney.

  The Indian led the way for several hundred yards, when he halted before one of the rudest and oddest habitations imaginable. It was made of stones, stumps, limbs, dirt and skins, its dimensions being about twenty feet in every direction. The savage paused but a moment when he shoved a large skin aside, entered and held it open for his friends to do the same. Tim O’Rooney peered cautiously into the lodge before trusting himself within it, but seeing nothing alarming, he stepped briskly forward, and was followed by the two boys and Terror.

  A dim fire was burning in one corner, against the face of a rock, and opposite it lay a bundle of clothes, which, upon being rather roughly touched by the foot of the Indian, resolved itself into a being of the feminine gender, unquestionably the partner of the master of the lodge. A few words were exchanged between the two, when the squaw busied herself in preparing a meal, while her husband stirred the fire into a cheerful blaze that brightly illuminated every portion of the singular dwelling. He seemed entirely forgetful of the presence of the strangers, who seated themselves upon a broad flat stone and calmly awaited the result of his doings.

  The old lady speedily appeared with a huge piece of meat, which was soon roasting on the fire, its savory odor filling the apartment, and rendering our friends half frantic in their starving condition. It was quickly cooked; the Indian severed it into four equal portions with his hunting-knife, and tossed one to each of his visitors, including the dog, which was really suffering for the want of nourishment.

  As Elwood and Howard ravenously ate the well-cooked, juicy meat, free from pepper and salt, they were sure they had never tasted such a delicious morsel in all their life. The pieces were of a generous size, and after all three had gormandized themselves until, absolutely, they could contain no more, each had some left. This, as a matter of course, was thrown to Terror, and by the time he had swallowed them all, he licked his jaws to show that his pangs of hunger were also fully satisfied.

  CHAPTER XI

  Further East

  “With your lave?” said Tim O’Rooney, stepping forward and drawing the pipe of their Indian host from his mouth. The latter gazed at him in amazement but said nothing, and offered no objection to the impudent proceeding.

  “I fales better,” complacently added the Irishman as he emitted volume after volume of tobacco smoke. “We’ve had a good schlape, a good male, and I’m quieting my narves with the ould gintleman’s pipe.”

  “It strikes me, Tim, you were rather discourteous,” said Elwood. “Be careful that we do not trespass too much on his good nature.”

  “This is the calomel o’ pace, as they calls it, and when you shmoke it it manes there’s no enmity atween us. You see, the ould gintleman and meself have shmoked
it together, and that makes us frinds. That is a wise shtroke of policy on the part of Tim O’Rooney, beside the comfort it gives him. Will aither of yez indulge in a few whiffs?”

  Both replied that they did not use the weed in any form.

  “That’s right. It makes me indignant when I sees a youngster puffing away at a pipe or a segar; but never mind that, boys; do yez jist look over the top of our ould frind’s head and tell me whether yez sees anything.”

  “I have noticed that fine-looking rifle before,” replied Howard; “I only wish each of us had such a one.”

  “We will have that before we lave this mansion. Do ye mind that, boys?”

  “I will starve to death before I will consent to take it away from the old Indian after the kind treatment he has given us,” said Howard.

  “So would I,” promptly added Elwood. “No matter how badly we may want it I shall never consent to steal it.”

  “Shtale it! Who talks of shtaling it!” indignantly demanded Tim. “You’re a couple of fine spalpeens, ain’t you, to think that of me. I mane to buy it, and give the ould man his own price.”

  “What have you to buy it with?” asked Elwood in surprise. “I have a little money, but I don’t believe it is enough to buy such a good-looking gun as that.”

  “No; if your pockets were lined with gold pieces he would care nothing for them,” said Howard; “but what will you offer him, Tim?”

  “Each of you has a knife, and likewise have I; you carry two pretty fine gold watches, while I’ve a bull’s-eye as big as a half-dozen like them. An Injun will sell his squaw and lodge for such trifles.”

  “Well, try it, then.”

  The Irishman arose to his feet when, as a matter of course, the black eye of the old man was fixed upon him. He pointed to the gun overhead, whereupon the Indian, with surprising quickness, caught it down and held it with a nervous grasp, his squaw taking his seat beside him. Tim offered the three knives which the party owned for it, opening and flicking them to excite his cupidity. The eager look that came into his face showed that he understood what was meant; but he only hugged his property more tightly and shook his head from side to side.

  “I knew he wouldn’t part with it,” said Elwood.

  “Howld on a minute,” replied Tim; “I’m only throwing out me skirmishers; I’ll fetch him yet. He’s larned how to make a bargain.”

  The Irishman now produced his watch—an immense affair that would have made a load for a small child. He pried open its gigantic case and showed the dazzling array of brass wheels and the glittering coil of steel. It could not but be attractive to a savage mind, and the Indian’s eyes sparkled as he looked upon it.

  “Keep yours and let me offer mine,” said Howard.

  “Howld on, I tell yees, howld on; maybe you’ll both have to offer ’em afore he’ll bite. My repater is like myself—it took too much salt water for its good and hasn’t been well for a few months. If the ould thing would only tick a little he couldn’t resist it; it has a beautiful voice when it starts—like a thrashing machine.”

  Equally to the surprise of Tim and the boys, the savage arose and handed the gun to the Irishman, who was only too glad to put his watch and three knives into his possession.

  “I only wish he had a couple more,” said Howard, “so that we could each get one. We ought to be able to take care of ourselves then.”

  Tim in the meantime was turning the rifle over in his hand and examining it with an appearance of great pleasure.

  “That come from San Francisco,” said he.

  “How did it reach these parts?”

  “Aisy enough, as me uncle said when he fell off the house. Some trader has let him have it for about five hundred dollars’ worth of furs and peltries.”

  “Don’t forget the ammunition,” admonished Elwood, “or the gun will do us little good.”

  “Worrah! it’s meself that came nigh doin’ the same. That’s a fine powdther-horn that he has. I say, Misther—”

  Tim now began motioning very earnestly for this article, bullet-pouch and box of percussion caps that the savage had at his side; but the shrewd old fellow was sharper than they expected. He indulged in a peculiar grin, and held them very rigidly.

  Howard laughed.

  “You don’t get anything more without paying for it?”

  “What shall I pay? I’ve alriddy overdrawn me bank account, as they say.”

  “Let him take my watch,” said Elwood. “Fact is, I think it has been ruined by the salt water.”

  “No, that’s too much; haven’t ye got some trinket about yees that isn’t good for nothing and that you doesn’t want?”

  The boys searched themselves. Elwood finally produced a small silver pencil.

  “Just the thing,” said Tim.

  But the old Indian, evidently failed to consider it just the thing, for he continued obdurate and shook his head.

  A new idea struck Howard. He wrenched off several brass buttons from his coat, and handed them to Tim. The eyes of their host fairly sparkled, as does a child’s at sight of a coveted toy, and rising to his feet he tottered hastily toward them, and tossed the coveted articles into the Irishman’s lap.

  “Now, if the owld gentleman would only dispose of his pipe and a ton or two of tobaccy to me, or make me a prisent of ’em, I’d lave and feel aisy.”

  A few more brass buttons procured this also, and our friends had good cause to feel delighted over the result of the bargain.

  “There doesn’t seem to be anything more that we can do, and it strikes me that it would be prudent for us to leave,” said Howard.

  “I think so,” added Elwood. “I believe there are other Indians at hand, or within call, else he wouldn’t be so willing to part with his gun.”

  The savage now rose and acted in rather a singular manner. Walking to the opening which answered for a door, he passed out and motioned for his visitors to follow. They did so, and when upon the outside he pointed off to the east, nodded his head, and swept his left arm.

  “What does he mean?” asked Howard, totally at a loss to understand him.

  “He means that this is the direction for us to follow.”

  “He maans, too, that there’s danger in waiting here, and that we’d better be thramping.”

  Elwood took a step or two in the direction indicated to test the meaning of their friend. He nodded very earnestly, and satisfied them all that the safest plan was for them to leave as soon as possible, and take the course pointed out by him.

  Accordingly, thanking him as well as they could by signs, the three moved away toward the east.

  CHAPTER XII

  The Salinas Valley

  Our friends journeyed forward until broad daylight, when they found themselves fairly among the high range of hills which in this portion of California comes down almost to the edge of the sea. The scenery was bleak and rugged, and the country was barren and showed very few signs of vegetation, so that for all practical purposes they were little better than if in the sandy desert of the south-eastern portion of the State.

  They observed, too, a disagreeable change in the climate. The moist winds of the Pacific being cooled by these mountains caused the air to become chilly and foggy and all felt the need of additional clothing.

  They had now concluded to pass through these hills to the Salinas Valley and then follow this northward until they reached the more settled portion of California, or come upon a party of miners or hunters, in whose company they could feel safe against the treacherous Indians, and who might perhaps afford them their much-needed weapons and more abundant food.

  The latter question assumed the first importance with them. They saw no fruits, and very few animals. The discharge of their rifle was dangerous, as it could be heard at a great distance, and if there is any creature that is extraordinarily inquisitive it is the American aborigine.

  Several times they heard the faint report of guns in the distance, but for some days saw no human beings except th
emselves. At night, when they lay down to rest, Terror kept a more faithful watch over them than either of their number could do. They generally found some secure place among the rocks where they could slumber in safety.

  On the third day after the shipwreck they crossed the dividing ridge and had a view of Salinas or San Buenaventura Valley. It was comparatively narrow, looking straighter than it really was, from the towering Coast Range that rose in vast massive ridges, several of the peaks piercing the clouds and reaching far up into the snow line. This was indeed an impassable barrier to their further progress beyond the valley, had they wished to make the attempt; for among those wild regions, where at midsummer the snow is whirled in blinding eddies, and the storm howls through gorges and canyons, and the lost traveler gropes blindly for a secure foothold along the mountain paths—it would have been fatal for them to venture without a sure guide.

  The Salinas Valley looked like a garden to them, and was indeed a promised land. There was fruit in abundance, and every prospect of meeting some of their own people. The Buenaventura, years ago, was a fabled river, and the geographies made it a huge stream, taking every course except the true one. They found it a river inferior in breadth and length to the Hudson, but vastly more interesting from its primeval character and the wild scenery along its banks.

  On the eastern slope of the mountains they discerned a great variety of trees, among them the Palo Colorado or Lambertine fir, some of them a dozen feet in diameter, although they did not attain any remarkable height. These were not the colossal pines so famous the world over. There were quite a number of beech, sycamore, oak, spruce, and maple, and other trees whose particular names they were unable to tell.

  There was a noticeable change in the climate also. The air had parted with a great deal of its moisture, and although very warm, it had a dryness about it that made it more grateful and pleasant than the coolness along the coast.

  When fairly in the Salinas Valley, and along the river, they found the vegetation remarkably luxuriant. Oats grew wild in many places, and the plants partook greatly of a tropical character. Grapes were very abundant, although it was too early in the season to find them ripe; yet they gathered a few berries that were very pleasant to the taste.