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.
CHAPTER XV
A Leap for Liberty
It seemed that nothing could be more favorable for the attempt to escape. There was Fred seated upon the back of a mustang. His copper colored captors were some distance away at the side of the ravine, while the only Indian in sight was a dozen feet ahead with his back toward him. True, there was the risk of being shot, but he felt that he did not deserve safety unless he was willing to run that or any risk.
There was a loose rein hanging on the neck of the mustang. Fred gently pulled it and the beast stopped. He was walking so quietly that his hoofs made scarcely any sound in falling upon the flinty surface, and the Indian, from some cause or other, failed to notice the cessation of sound until the distance between them had about doubled.
At that instant, the redskin turned his head as quick as lightning. Fred, who had been washing for that identical movement, whirled the steed about and started him back in the ravine at full gallop, the brute responding gallantly to the sudden demand made upon him.
The fugitive was expecting a shot from the rifle in the hand of the Apache, and he threw himself forward upon the horse, so as to make the target as difficult to hit as possible. But the Indian did not fire, not only on account of the risk to his favorite mustang, but because it would have been certain to disarrange the reconnoissance upon which Waukko and his companions were engaged.
But the red-skin did not stand in stupid helplessness. A glance told him everything, and, running with extraordinary swiftness to the nearest mustang, he vaulted upon his back and started in pursuit, putting his animal upon the jump from the first. The few seconds’ unavoidable delay gave the young fugitive something like a hundred yards start, an advantage which he used every effort to increase, and which, for a brief spell, he succeeded in doing.
Fred’s object was to avoid a regular chase, for he dreaded that in such case the superior knowledge of the country possessed by the Indian would enable him to outwit him at every turn. Night was close at hand, and, if he could dodge the red-skin until darkness, the lad was confident of escaping him altogether.
For a short distance, the ravine continued in almost a straight line, and then it turned at a sharp angle. Without attempting to guide the mustang in the least, Fred kept himself thrown forward, with his arms about his neck, while he hammered his sides with his heels, spoke sharply to him, and did everything he could to urge him to the highest possible rate of speed. The animal whirled about the corner, and, with his neck extended, went down the ravine with almost incredible swiftness—a speed which was steadily drawing him away from his pursuer, and which would have carried him beyond his reach in a brief time, but for a singular and altogether unexpected check.
The pursuing red-skin saw his charge quietly slipping from his grasp, and he must have viewed the wonderful speed of his favorite mustang, under the circumstances, with mixed emotions. At any rate, it took him but a short time to see that in a stern chase he had no chance of coming up with his own animal, and so he commanded him to halt. This was done by a peculiar, tremulous whooping sound, which he had used scores of times to summon his animal to him, and which had never failed. Nor did it fail now.
Fred was careering along at this amazing speed, congratulating himself meanwhile upon his cleverness, when the brute c
hecked himself so suddenly that the rider narrowly escaped being pitched over his head. He jerked the bit, and pounded his heels against his ribs, but it was of no avail. The horse had pricked up his ears, neighed, and was looking back, with very much the appearance of an animal that was in a mental muddle.
The Indian saw it, and repeated the signal. Thereupon the mustang wheeled and started backward at a gallop, directly toward his master.
“If that’s your idea, I’m not going with you!” gasped the lad, who slipped off his back, as nimbly as a monkey, and made a dash for the side of the ravine, without any clear idea of where he was going.
It seemed that there was no possible escape for the lad, for the Indian was but a short distance behind him, and was twice as fleet of foot as he; but one of those fortunate interferences which seem to be in their nature like special Providences occurred at this juncture.
The flight and pursuit of Fred Munson took place at a critical period in the affairs of all parties and so mixed up the business that it was thrown entirely out of gear and almost into inextricable confusion. It seemed that there was a party of Kiowas in hiding, and awaiting the chance to open fire upon the approaching Apaches. The sly scamps saw every movement of the warriors, and it looked as if the flies were about walking into their trap when the unexpected by-play occurred.
There must have been all of half a dozen Kiowas, enough to extinguish the Apaches, and when Fred Munson started in his flight, two of the Indians hurried down the ravine for the purpose of taking a hand in the business. They unavoidably fell behind in such a trial of speed, but when they saw the Apache about to reach out his hand to grasp the fugitive, two shots were fired almost simultaneously at him.
They were intended to kill, too, for the Kiowas, who were actuated by no love for the despairing white boy, felt that they could afford to give him this temporary respite. They were certain of their own ability to step in and pluck the prize at the very moment it might seem to be beyond their reach. Rather curiously, however, neither of the shots did what was intended. One of them missed the Apache altogether, and the other only slightly wounded him.
As it was, however, the pursuing warrior was dumbfounded, and he stopped as suddenly as if smitten by a bolt from heaven. Leaving his mustang to look out for himself, he darted to the opposite side of the ravine from that taken by the lad, for the purpose of securing cover before a second volley could be fired.
Fred heard the report of the rifle-shots, and sup posed that he was the target and that they had been fired by Waukko and his companion. Instead of stopping to ascertain, he continued his flight with all the desperation of combined hope and despair.
A few seconds sufficed to carry him across the ravine, and among the rocks, boulders, and stunted growth. The panting fugitive was rendered almost frantic by the thought that he was about to elude the red-skin after all. As he bounded into cover, he cast a terrified glance backward, to see how close to his heels was his dreaded enemy.
Not an Indian was visible.
But although Fred failed to see anything of his enemies, he could not but believe that they were somewhere in the immediate neighborhood, and he did not relax his efforts in the slightest. Such strenuous efforts speedily exhausted him, and after climbing, clambering, and stumbling forward and upward for some twenty rods or so, he tripped and pitched forward upon his face, where he lay panting, and so weak that he could not rise. He was sure he heard the footsteps of his pursuer but a short distance away, and the most that he could do was to raise his head and glance furtively in the direction. He had not the strength absolutely to rise to his feet and run away.
Again and again he was confident that the Apache was close to him, but still he did not become visible, and all this time Fred was rapidly regaining his strength. In a very short time his rapid breathing subsided, and he felt his old vigor and vitality creeping back into his limbs. He was ready to spring to his feet again, but he did not deem it best. It seemed to him that the warrior had lost sight of him, and was looking about. If the boy, therefore, should rise to his feet, he would be the more likely to be seen, and if he remained where he was he was sure of being found.
He compromised the matter by crawling forward on his hands and knees, listening and looking, and continually pausing to prevent creeping into the arms of his enemies. All this time night was approaching, and with the passage of each minute came a corresponding rise in the hopes of the fugitive. Fred kept moving forward upon his hands and knees, climbing higher and further away from the point of danger.
Everything remained as silent as the tomb.
The Apache that Fred fancied was so close upon him was, in reality, playing hide and seek with the Kiowas, a business which is generally conducted in silence, unless the stillness be broken by the occasional crack of the rifle, or the death-yell of one of the participants. The footsteps which the boy fancied he heard were all in his imagination. In fact, he was alone. No human eye saw him, or took cognizance of his movements. For the present he was left to himself.
There was but One who held him in view and remembrance at this critical juncture. To Him Fred appealed again and again to lead him through the labyrinth of peril, and to permit him to return in safety to his friends.
Still the boy picked his way along as does the frightened animal, and still he failed to see or hear anything of his enemy. Meanwhile the gloom deepened, and with the passage of every moment his heart lightened, until he felt that for the time being, at least, his safety was assured.
CHAPTER XVI
The Reconnoissance
It was a mystery to young Munson why the shots fired, as he supposed, by the Apaches, should have checked his pursuer, who was so close upon him. Had he known that they came from a couple of hostile Kiowas, and that they were intended for the warrior whose hand was outstretched to grasp him, the matter would not have been so hard to understand. But he saw the night closing in about him, while he remained among the rocks, moving forward in the same stealthy manner, upon his hands and knees, and his strained ear failed to catch the slightest sound that could make him fear that any of his enemies were near at hand.
Of course he looked with all the eyes at his command, but they also stared upon a blank, so far as animated creation was concerned. At last Fred halted, tired out with this species of locomotion.
“I do believe I’ve given them the slip,” he exclaimed, his heart throbbing more than ever with renewed hope. “I don’t exactly understand how it was done, but I thank the Lord all the more for it.”
He now arose to his feet and reconnoitered his own position. So far as he could judge, he was fully two hundred yards away from and above the ravine where he had made this successful attempt at escape. The day was so far gone by this time that he could barely discern the open space which led through the mountain. His view on the left was shut off by the angle to which reference has been made, and on the right the gathering obscurity ended the field of vision.
As soon as he was able to locate the gorge, his eyes roamed up and down in quest of those from whom he was fleeing. Not a glimpse could be obtained. It was as if he had penetrated for the first time a solitude never before trodden by the foot of man. Satisfied of this pleasant fact, he then made search for the smoke of the campfire which was the real cause of his escape.
No twinkling point of light revealed its location, but, having decided where it was first seen, he fancied he could detect the faintest outline of a column of vapor rising until, clear of the crest of the mountain behind it, it could be seen outlined against the sky beyond. He more than suspected, however, that it was merely imagination. Leaning back against a boulder, the lad folded his arms and endeavored to take in the situation in its entirety.
“Thank the Lord, that I have a good start,” he mused, his heart stirred with deep gratitude at the remarkable manner in which he had eluded the Apaches.
With the knowledge that for the nonce he was clear of his enemies, several other facts impressed themselves up
on his mind—facts which were both important and unpleasant. In the first place, he had not eaten a mouthful of food since morning, and he was hungry. He had swallowed enough water to stave off the more uncomfortable sensation of thirst, but water is not worth much to appease the hunger. He felt the need of food very sorely.
In the next place, he could think of no immediate means of getting anything to eat. He had no gun or pistol—nothing more than his simple jack-knife. The prospect of procuring anything substantial with that was not flattering enough to make him feel hopeful.
And again, now that he had freed himself of captivity, how was he to make his way back to New Boston, where friends were awaiting him, with little hope of his return? He had traversed many miles since the preceding night, and had gone through a country that was totally unknown to him. To attempt to retrace his footsteps without the aid of a horse was like attempting that which was impossible.
While in the act of fleeing, he thought not of these. He was unconscious of hunger, and forgot that he was so many miles from home; but now both conditions were forced upon him with anything but a pleasant vividness. But all of Fred’s ingenuity was unequal to the task of suggesting a way whereby his want could be supplied. Even had he a gun, there was not much show for anything like game in the darkness of night, and thus, under the most favorable circumstances, he would be forced to wait until morning.
“I’m pretty tired,” he said, as he thought over the matter, “and, maybe, if I get asleep, I can keep it up until morning, and in that way worry through the night. But I tell you, Fred Munson, I would like to have a good square meal just now. There is fruit growing here and there among those mountains, but a chap can’t find it at night. Now, if there was only some camp of the hunters, where I could get in and—”
He abruptly paused, as his own words suggested an idea.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 270
