And so it came about that Mickey stood quietly by, and permitted the whole five Apaches to slide down the rope like so many monkeys, while he raised no hand in the way of protest. Not knowing how many the party numbered, he could not conjecture how many were left when the five had come down, and the business stopped for the time, but he knew, as a matter of course, that they would not enter the cave without leaving reinforcements upon the surface.
By the time the last man landed, Mickey had moved back to a point a hundred yards away from where the group were gathered, where he was seated upon a large rock.
“If any of ’em undertakes to flash a bull’s eye in me face, I kin dodge down behind the same,” was the way in which the Irishman reasoned it.
At such a time, and in such a place, the faculty of hearing was about the only one that could be counted upon, and, sliding softly off the rock, Mickey applied his ear to the earth. If the Apaches were moving about, the noise made by their feet was so slight that he could not be certain whether they were actually branching out and groping for him, or whether they were the sounds produced by the natural shifting of the feet of a group of men standing together.
Matters stood thus for some time, when the last Indian suddenly came through the opening and plumped down upon the ground below, his start on this journey being such that he was probably considerably shaken up by the involuntary trip.
“Ye spalpeens must be more careful in coming downstairs,” muttered Mickey, who supposed that the whole thing was an accident, as in his own case.
But it was not long before he heard the voice of Fred Munson, calling from above, and, as each word was distinctly heard, there was no room for any misunderstanding of the situation. The Irishman was literally dumfounded.
“Be the powers! if it isn’t the most wonderful thing that ever happened, as Mrs. Murphy remarked when Tim came home sober one night. That laddy, in hunting around, has struck upon some hole that leads out, and he’s forgot, or else it was so hard to find his way back to me, he has gone round to that place, and now hollers down at me.
“Begorrah,” added Mickey, a moment later, “it must be that he shoved that spalpeen overboard, and there isn’t anybody left up there in the way of Apaches but one, and he ain’t an Apache, but a gintleman named Fred Moonson. Here’s to his health, and if this thing gets any more delightful, I’ll have to give a whoop and yell, and strike up the Tipperary jig.”
The exultant fellow had hard work to keep his spirits under control when he fairly understood the brilliant exploit that had been performed by his young friend.
“It is almost aqual to my gineral coorse,” he he added; “but I must try and hold in till I can get the laddy by himself. Then I’ll hammer him, out of pure love, as ye may say.”
Mickey managed to contain himself, but did not attempt to reply to the direct call which was made upon him. That, in one sense, would have been fatal, as it would have “uncovered” his position. The Irishman was quick-witted, and it occurred to him that the last incident which had happened at the entrance to the cave might be turned to good account. If he continued to remain in the background, the Apaches were likely to conclude that he, too, was beyond their reach.
Thus matters stood until the signal was made to him, when he deemed it wise to make a cautious reply, merely to apprise the lad that he was there within call, and understood the situation through and through.
Mickey was very apprehensive when, some time after, he discovered that one of the Indians was ascending the rope. He was not so apprehensive when he came down again. The result of this repulse was much more decisive than Fred had supposed. The warriors seemed to suspect that they were throwing away time in attempting to outwit one who held such an immense advantage over them, and who was too wide-awake to permit them to steal a march upon him.
The delighted Irishman knew, from the sounds, that the redskins were moving away from the spot, not with the idea of staying away altogether, but that they might engage upon a little reconnoissance which might possibly open the way that they were so anxiously seeking. One of the redskins passed almost within arm’s length of him, never suspecting, as a matter of course, that he was brought into such proximity to a mortal enemy. Mickey only breathed until assured that there was quite a distance between him and the Apaches.
“Now it begins to look as though there’s a chance for me,” he concluded; “and if me laddy will let down the lasso, I’ll thry the bootiful experiment of shinning up it, though I much fear me that it will be the same as a greased pole.”
He moved with the utmost circumspection toward the spot, being able to locate it by means of the moonlit opening overhead, and when he was near it he halted and listened.
“I don’t obsarve that any one is loafing about here, getting in the way of honest folks.”
Just then he ran plump against an Apache, whom he did not suspect was so near him.
The redskin uttered a grunt of anger, no doubt suspecting that it was one of his own friends.
As quick as lightning the Irishman drew back and struck a blow that stretched the warrior senseless.
“I’ll tache ye to be grunting around here when a gintleman runs again ye. Ye ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Mickey had already strapped his rifle to his back, and, groping about, he felt the end of the lasso dangling in front of his face. The same instant he grasped it and began the ascent.
CHAPTER X
“Here We are Again!”
Fred Munson, having been deceived once by the Apache climbing up the rope, was not to be caught again in the same way. When he became certain that a second person was coming up, he grasped his pistol again, and held himself in readiness to “repel boarders,” the very instant they appeared.
It soon became evident that this second person, whoever he was, had a serious time in climbing up the rope. He frequently paused as if resting, and this fact led the lad to feel more hopeful than ever that it was his old friend drawing near.
When it became apparent that he was near the top, the curiosity of Fred became so great that he drew himself forward, and, peering down the black throat of the cave, asked, in a whisper:
“I say, Mickey, is that you? Speak, if it is, or give a little whistle.”
“Be the powers, but I’m so tired I’m spaachless, wid not even the strength to let out a whistle.”
This established the identity of the climber beyond all question, and the words were hardly uttered when the familiar face of the Irishman appeared.
He was exceedingly tired, and the lad reached his hand down to assist him out. It was at this juncture that the Apache, who had run against the fist of Mickey O’Rooney, recovered, and seeing his foe in the act of vanishing, gave a whoop of alarm to his companions, caught up his rifle and fired away. The hasty aim alone prevented a fatal result, the bullet clipping the clothing of the Irishman.
“Fire away, ye spalpeens, for all the good it may do ye,” called out the Irishman, who at this moment clambered out of range and sank down upon the ground.
“Begorrah, I’m as tired as Jim O’Shaughnessey after his friendly match with his wife,” gasped Mickey, speaking shortly and rapidly, as best he could, while he leaned over upon his elbow, until he could regain his strength and wind.
It required but a short time, when he reached his hand to the lad, and shook it for the third or fourth time, smiling at the same time in his old jolly way, as he rose rather unsteadily upon his pins.
“I’ll have to wait a while till the kink gets out of me legs, before I give ye the Donnybrook jig, but I make the engagement wid ye, and the thing is down for performance, do ye mind that? And now, me laddy, we must thravel. Are ye hungry?”
“Yes.”
“I have a bite saved that’ll do ye till the morrow. When ye waltzed out the cave and left me to meself, I felt there was no knowing how long I’d have to stay behind, so I knocked off both eating and drinking, with the idea of getting used to going without anything.”
As they were able to talk more understandingly, the two explained their experiences since they had parted. They could not fail to be interesting in both cases. When they had finished, Mickey O’Rooney had about recovered from the terrible strain he had undergone in clambering out the cave, barring a little ache in his arms and legs.
“Now, me laddy, we must emigrate, as there ain’t anything to be gained by loafing round here, as the gals used to tell the chaps when they tried to cut me out. The first thing to larn is whether the hoss that I lift some distance away is still there cropping the grass. If he is, then we shall have small work in making our way back to New Boston; but if he has emigrated ahead of us thar, we must hunt for others.”
“There’s no need of going that far.”
“Why not?”
“Because the mustangs of the Apaches are right over yonder behind those rocks.”
“That’s good; let’s take a look at the same.”
They hurried over to the spot where the half dozen mustangs were tethered. They were lying upon the ground, taking their sleep, having finished a bounteous meal. The intelligent creatures showed their training by throwing up their heads the instant the two came in sight, and several gave utterance to whinneys, no doubt with the purpose of apprising their masters of the approach of strangers. None of them rose to their feet, however, and Mickey and Fred moved about, inspecting them as best they could in the moonlight, with the purpose of selecting the best.
“They’re all a fine lot, as the neighbors used to say, after inspicting me father’s family, and it’s hard to make up your mind which is the best, but here is one that shtrikes me fancy. Get up wid ye.”
The steed, spoken to in this peremptory manner, leaped to his feet, and stood in all his graceful and beautiful proportions, an equine gem, which could not fail to command admiration.
“I think he’ll suit,” said the Irishman, after a careful examination. “I think he can run as well as any of’em. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, me laddy. We’ll both mount this one, and ride till we reach the place where I lift mine, when we’ll have one apiece.”
“But if yours isn’t there?”
“Then we’ll kaap this one betwaan us, as the gals used to say, when they quarreled over me.”
“Hadn’t I better take one of the horses, and if we find yours, why, we can turn one of these loose, and we shall be all right, no matter how the things turn out?”
“It’s not a bad idaa,” assented the Irishman.“Pick yours out, and then we’ll turn the others loose.”
“Why will you do that?”
“What’s the use of laving them here? Them spalpeens will find their way out of the cave before long, and then they will strike straight for these animals, and, if they happen to get out pretty soon, they’ll make trouble with us. We might as well let ’em walk awhile.”
“How are they going to get out?”
“Didn’t ye lave the lasso hanging down into the cave?”
“I declare, I never thought of that!” exclaimed the affrighted lad. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
And he started to repair the oversight, when Mickey caught his arm and checked him.
“Not so, me son; lave it as it is. If we should go away and lave the spalpeens down there without the rope, they might never find the way out, and would starve to death, and it would always grieve me to think I had starved six Apaches to death, instead of affording meself some enjoyment by cracking ’em over the head wid a shillelah.”
“I should be sorry to do that,” replied Fred, who comprehended the cruelty of leaving the poor fellows to perish, as they were likely to do if left without the means of escape;“but, if we leave the rope hanging there, the whole party will be up here before we can get out of the way, and then what shall we do?”
“Niver fear, niver fear,” said Mickey, with a wave of his hand and a magisterial shake of the head. “The spalpeens have got enough of climbing up there for a while. They’ve gone off on a hunt through the cavern for the place where you crawled out, and they’ll kaap at that till morning, and then, if there’s no show for ’em, they’ll come back, and begin to fool around the rope again.”
The lad had little difficulty in deciding upon his steed, which was a coal-black mustang, lithe and willowy, and apparently of a good disposition, although that was necessarily a matter of conjecture, for the present. There were no saddles upon any of the horses, and nothing but the rudest kind of bridle, consisting of a thong of twisted bull’s hide, and reaching away to some limb or tree, so as to give the animal plenty of grazing area. The lariats of the other four were cut—so that, when they arose, they would find themselves at liberty to go whither they chose—after which the two approached their respective prizes and prepared to mount.
Both were good riders, although, being compelled to go it bareback, they felt some misgivings as to the result. Fred’s mustang was rather under size, so that he was able to vault upon him from the ground without difficulty. After patting him on the neck and speaking soothingly to him, with a view to disarming him of all timidity, the lad leaped lightly upon his back.
The steed showed at once that he did not like this familiarity, and reared and plunged and shook his head in a vicious way, but he toned down somewhat after a time, and seemed disposed to compromise matters until he learned something about his rider.
“Ye’re going to become a good rider—that is, in the course of twenty or thirty years,” remarked Mickey, who had been watching his young friend closely, “if ye practice aich day in those thirty years; but I want you to observe my shtyle—note how complately I bring the animal under, how docile he becomes, how mild, how gentle, how lamblike.”
And with these rather pompous observations, he laid his hand upon the mane of his mustang, and at one bound bestrode him, catching the lariat after the manner of one who was determined to have no nonsense about it.
“Now note how quick I’ll subdue him, how afeard he’ll be, you can’t goad him into trying to throw me. Talk about Rarey breaking that old horse Cruiser, that used to ate his keeper every day for breakfast, he couldn’t compare wid mesilf.”
Before Mickey had time to finish his observation, the heels of the mustang went up almost perpendicularly in the air, and with such suddenness that Mickey was thrown a dozen feet over his head, alighting upon his hands and knees.
Fred was amused beyond expression at the discomfiture of his boasting friend, who was not a little astonished at the manner in which he had been overthrown.
“Turns up,” he said, as he gathered himself on his feet again, “that I was a little mistook. Such accidents will happen now and then, and it isn’t very kind for a spalpeen like yourself to laugh at me sorrow.”
“I can’t help it, Mickey, but I’m afraid I can’t stick to the back of this horse. He seems scared and mad, and his back feels mighty slippery without any saddle or blanket.”
“Maybe, if I get on wid ye, the weight of us both will hold him down.”
The mustang which hard thrown the Irishman continued to flourish his heels and disport himself in such a lively style, that his spirit became contagious, and the four, who were yet upon the ground, now came to their feet, and after some plunging and rearing, made a rush down the slope, and were soon out of sight.
The animal ridden by the lad showed a disposition to join them, but the rider resisted, and managed to hold him, until at the opportune moment, Mickey placed himself on his back, and, as he was really a good horseman, and used vigorous means, he speedily managed to bring him under control. Turning his head toward the ridge, they started him forward, pausing near the mouth of the cavern long enough to gather up one of the blankets lying there, as it was likely to be useful at no distant time.
CHAPTER XI
Through the Mountains
The moon was high in the sky, and it was near midnight. O’Rooney, who had taken upon himself the task of guiding the mustang, continued him on up the ridge, directly toward the spot whe
re Fred had lain so long watching the action of the Apaches gathered around the opening of the cave.
The mustang walked along quite obediently, seeming to feel the load no more than if it was only one half as great. But those animals are like their native masters—cunning and treacherous, ready to take advantage of their riders whenever it happens to come in their way.
“Which is the raison I cautions ye to be riddy for a fall,” said Mickey, after referring to some of the peculiarities of these steeds of the Southwest. “The minute he gits it into his head that we ain’t paying attention, he’ll rear up on his fore-feet, and walk along that way for half a mile. Not having any saddle, we’ll have to slide over his neck, unless I can brace me feet agin his ears, and ride along standing straight up.”
The constant expectation of being flung over the head of a horse is not the most comforting sensation that one can have, and the lad clung fast to his friend in front, determined not to go, unless in his company. Upon reaching the top of the ridge, the horse was reined up for a few minutes, as Mickey, like the mariner at sea, was desirous of taking an observation, so as to prevent himself going astray.
“Can you remember how you were placed?” asked the lad, after he had spent several minutes in the survey; “that is, do you know which way to go for the horse you left eating grass?”
“I was a little puzzled at first, as me father obsarved to the school-teacher when he said I had been a good boy, but I see how it is now. It must have been that I got a little turned round when I was down in the basemint of these mountains, but I see how it is now. Right yonder,” he added, pointing toward the Northwest, “is where I left my hoss, and there is where I hope I’ll find him again.”
“Is the road so that we can ride the mustang all the way there, or must we walk?”
“I remember I come right along some kind of a path, made by animals, after leaving the beast. I s’pose it’s the route taken by the crathurs in going to the water, for there’s a splendid spring right there, and the path that I was just tilling you ’bout leads straight to it.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 285
