The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  The boy had been waiting so long for his appearance that he uttered an exclamation, and half arose to his feet in his excitement. But he quickly settled back again, and, with an interest which it would be hard to describe, watched every movement of the redskin, as the tiger watches the approach of its victim.

  The indian stalked up the other side of the plateau, walking slowly, looking right and left, in front and rear, and down at the ground, his manner showing that he was engaged in trailing the party, using all the care and skill of which he was the master. Reaching the middle of the plateau, he stopped, looked about, and made a gesture to some one behind him. A moment later, a second indian appeared, and then a third, the trio meeting near the centre of the irregular plot, where they immediately began a conversation.

  Each of the three was liberal with his gestures, and now and then Fred could catch the sound of their voices. What it was that could so deeply interest them at such a time, he was at a loss to conjecture, but there could be no doubt that it related to the party they were pursuing.

  “That must be all there are of them,” he reflected, after several minutes had passed, without any other Apaches becoming visible; “but it seems to me it is a small force to chase us with. I’ve always understood that the Indians wanted double the number of their enemies, whenever they are going to attack them, but I suppose they’ve got some plan that I can’t understand.”

  They had been talking but a short time, when Fred understood from their actions that they had detected the mustang above them on the mountain side. They looked up several times, and pointed and gesticulated in the same earnest fashion. It suddenly occurred to the lad that he might play a good point on the redskins, with the idea of delaying any offensive movement they might have under discussion. Pointing his revolver over the rock in front of him, he pulled the trigger.

  The report was as sharp and loud almost as that of a rifle, but the parties against whom it it was aimed were in no more danger than if they had been in the city of Newark. The report had no sooner reached the ears of the Apaches than they scattered as wildly as if they had heard the whizz of a dozen bullets by their faces. Fred chuckled over the success of his ruse and made sure to keep himself hid from view.

  “That will make them think that we’re holding a sharp look-out for them, and they’ll be careful before they make an attack upon us.”

  It seemed strange to him that the Apaches, who must know of the presence of Sut Simpson, who was equal to half a dozen men in such a situation, should have sent forward only three of their warriors to trail him.

  “It may be,” he thought, after a while, “that these men know how to follow a trail faster than the others, and they have gone on ahead, while the others are coming after them. I should think Lone Wolf would do anything in the world to catch Sut, who has done him so much injury.”

  Night was drawing on apace, darkness being due in less than an hour. Fred was naturally perplexed and alarmed, for he could not help feeling that he was in a most perilous position, regarding which he should have had more advice from the scout before his departure. The only thing that seemed prudent for him to do was to wait until dark and then quietly steel out and shift his position. It looked very much as if he could take care of himself for the night, at least, but he did not see how he could take care of the mustang, which had already changed hands so often, and which was so necessary to their safety.

  “Sut said he expected to be home by dark, and I wish he’d come,” was the thought that passed through his mind over and over again as he looked into the gathering darkness and listened for the sound of his friends.

  But the stillness remained unbroken and the shadows deepened, until he saw that the night was fully come, and he could move about without danger of being fired upon from a distance. The moon was late in rising, so that the gloom was deep enough to hide one person from another, when the distance was extremely slight. Although aware of this, Fred was afraid of some flank movement upon the part of the Apaches, before he could get out of their reach. The suspicion that there were two men besides would make the redskins very cautious in their movements, but a little manoeuvring on their part might reveal the truth, in which case the situation of the lad would be critical in the extreme.

  Fred had nerved himself to the task of stealing around the corner of a large rock and off into the darkness, when he was startled by a quick, sudden stamp of the horse. There might have been nothing in this; but, recalling what the scout had said about the skill of the animal as a sentinel, he had no doubt but that it meant that he had scented danger and that the redskins were close at hand. Scarcely pausing to reflect upon the advisability of the step, the lad began crawling in the direction of the animal, not more then twenty feet away.

  Before he had passed half the distance he was certain that a redskin was at some deviltry, for the horse stamped and snorted, and showed such excitement, that Fred forgot his own danger, and, springing to his feet, ran rapidly toward the animal. Just as he reached him, he saw that an Indian had him by the bridle, and was trying to draw him along, the mustang resisting, but still yielding a step at a time. In a short time, if the thief was not disturbed, he would have gotten him beyond the possibility of rescue, he seeming more anxious to secure the steed than the scalp of its owner. With never a thought of the consequences, Fred raised his revolver and blazed away with both barrels, aiming as best he could straight at the marauding Apache, who, with a howl of rage and terror, dropped the bridle of the mustang and bounded away among the rocks.

  “There! I guess when you want to borrow a horse again, you’ll ask the owner.”

  The lad was reminded of his imprudence by the flash of a rifle almost in his face, and the whizz of the bullet which grazed his cheek. But he still had two loaded chambers in his revolver, and he wheeled for the purpose of sending one of them at least, into the warrior that had made an attempt upon his life. At this critical juncture the mustang displayed an intelligence that was wonderful.

  The Apache who was stealing upon him was near the steed, which, without any preliminary warning, let out both his heels, knocking the unsuspecting wretch fully a dozen feet and stretching him, badly wounded, upon the ground.

  “I wonder how many more there are?” exclaimed the lad, looking about him, and expecting to see others rushing forward from the gloom.

  But the repulse for the time being was effectual and the way was clear.

  “I guess I’d better get out of here,” was the thought of Fred, “for it ain’t likely they will leave me alone very long when they’ve found out that I’m the only one left.”

  With revolver in hand he moved hurriedly backward among the rocks, and, after going a few rods, halted and looked for his pursuers, whom he believed to be close behind him. There was something coming, but a moment’s listening satisfied him that it was his mustang, which seemed to comprehend the exigency fully as well as he did himself.

  “I don’t know about that,” he reflected.“They can follow him better then they can me, and he can’t sneak along like I can. If they catch him, they’ll be pretty sure to catch me.”

  He started to flee, not from the Indians only, but from the mustang as well. But the speed of the latter was greater than his own, and, after several attempts to dodge him, he gave it up.

  “If you can travel so well,” reflected Fred,“you might as well carry me on your back.”

  Saying this he leaped upon the animal’s back and gave him free rein. The animal was going it on his own hook and he plunged and labored along for some minutes longer, over the rockiest sort of surface, until he halted of his own accord. The instant he did so Fred leaped to the ground, paused and listened for his pursuers. Nothing but the hurried breathing of the mustang could be heard. The latter held his head well up, with ears thrown forward, in the attitude of attention. But minute after minute passed and the stillness remained unbroken. It looked indeed as if the fugitive horse and boy had found rest for the time, and, so long as the dar
kness continued, there was no necessity for further flight.

  CHAPTER XXV

  Hunting a Steed

  Leaving Fred Munson to watch for the approach of the Indians, it becomes necessary to follow Mickey O’Rooney and Sut Simpson on their hunt for a horse with which to continue their flight from the mountains and across the prairies. It cannot be said that the scout, in starting upon this expedition, had any particular plan in view. As he remarked, Indians were around them, and, wherever Indians were found, it was safe to look for the best kind of horses. Wherever the best opportunity offered, there he intended to strike. With this view, the first position of their expedition was in the nature of a survey, by which they intended to locate the field in which to operate.

  The Irishman could not fail to see the necessity of caution and silence, and, leaving his more experienced companion to take the lead, he followed him closely, without speaking or halting. The way continued rough and broken, being very difficult to travel at times; but after they had tramped a considerable distance, Mickey noticed that they were going down hill at quite a rapid rate, and finally they reached the lowermost level, where the scout faced him.

  “Do yer know whar yer be?” he asked, in a significant tone.

  “Know whar I be?” repeated the Irishman, in amazement. “How should I know, as the spalpeens always said arter I knocked them down at the fair? What means of information have I?”

  “You’ve been over this spot afore,” continued the scout, enjoying the perplexity of his friend.

  The latter scratched his head and looked about him with a more puzzled expression than ever.

  “The only place that it risimbles in my mind, is a hilly portion in the north of Ireland. Do you maan to say we’ve arrived thar?”

  “This is the pass which you tramped up and down, and whar you got into trouble.”

  “It don’t look like any part that I ever obsarved; but why do you have such a hankering for this ravine, in which we haven’t been used very well?”

  “Yer’s whar the Injuns be, and yer’s whar we must look for hosses—sh!”

  Mickey heard not the slightest sound, but he imitated the action of the scout and dodged down in some undergrowth, which was dense enough to hide them from the view of any one who did not fairly trample upon them. They had crouched but a minute or two in this position, when Mickey fancied he heard the tramp of a single horse, approaching on a slow walk. He dared not raise his head to look, although he noticed that the shoulders of the scout in front of him were slowly rising, as he peered stealthily forward.

  The experiences of the last few days had been remarkable in more than one respect. The two men had set out to secure a horse, neither deeming it probable that the one which was desired above all others could be obtained; and yet, while they were crouching in the bushes, the very animal—the one which had been ridden by Mickey O’Rooney—walked slowly forth to view, on his way up the ravine or pass. The most noticeable feature of the scene was that he was bestrode by an Indian warrior, whose head was bent in a meditative mood. The redskin, so far as could be seen, was without a companion, the steed walking at the slowest possible gait and approaching a point which was no more than a dozen feet away.

  The instant Mickey caught sight of the warrior and recognized his own horse, there was a slight movement on the part of the scout. The Irishman narrowly escaped uttering an exclamation of surprise and delight as he identified his property, but he checked himself in time to notice that Sut was stealthily bringing his gun around to the front, with the unmistakable purpose of shooting the Apache. The heart of the Irishman revolted at such a proceeding. There seemed something so cowardly in thus killing an adversary without giving him an opportunity to defend himself that he could not consent to it. Reaching forward, he twitched the sleeve of Sut, who turned his head in surprise.

  “What is it ye’re driving at, me laddy?”

  “Sh!—him!” he whispered, in return, darting his head toward the slowly approaching horseman, winking and blinking so significantly that it was easy to supply the words which were omitted.

  “But why don’t ye go out and tell him what ye intend, so that he can inform his friends, and bid them all good-bye? It ain’t the thing to pop a man over in that style, without giving him a chance to meditate on the chances of his life, so be aisy wid him, Soot.”

  The scout seemed at a loss to understand the meaning of his companion, whose waggery and drollery cropped out at such unexpected times that no one knew when to expect it. The Indian was approaching and was already close at hand. Keen-eared, and with their senses always about them, Apaches are likely to detect the slightest disturbance. The scout glanced at the horseman, and then at Mickey, who was in earnest.

  “It’s the only way to git the hoss, you lunkhead, so will yer keep yer meat-trap shet?”

  “I don’t want a horse if we’ve got to murder a man to git the same.”

  “But the only way out here to treat an Injin is to shoot him the minute yer see him—that’s sensible.”

  “I don’t want ye to do it,” said Mickey, so pleadingly that the scout could not refuse.

  “Wal, keep still and don’t interfere, and I promise yer I won’t slide him under, onless he gits in the way, and won’t git out.”

  “All right,” responded Mickey, not exactly sure that he understood him, but willing to trust one who was not without his rude traits of manhood.

  All this took place in a few seconds, during which the Apache horseman had approached, and another moment’s delay would have given him a good chance of escape by flight. As noiselessly as a shadow the scout arose from his knees to a stooping position, took a couple of long, silent strides forward, and then straightened up, directly in front of the startled horse, and still more startled rider. The former snorted, and partly reared up, but seemed to understand, as if by an instinct, that the stranger was more entitled to claim him than the one upon his back. Another step forward and the scout held the bridle in his left hand, while he addressed the astounded Apache in his own tongue, a liberal translation being as follows:

  “Let my brother, the dog of an Apache, slide off that animile, and vamoose the ranch, or I’ll lift his ha’r quicker’n lightning.”

  The savage deemed it advisable to “slide.” He carried a knife at his girdle, and held a rifle in his grasp, but the scout had come upon him so suddenly that he felt he was master of the situation. So without attempting to argue the matter with him, he dropped to the ground, and began retreating up the ravine, with his face toward his conquerer, as if he mistrusted treachery.

  “Our blessing go wid ye,” said Mickey, rising to his feet, and waving his hand toward the alarmed Apache; “we don’t want to harm ye, and ye may go in pace. There, Soot,” he added, as he came up beside him, “we showed that spalpeen marcy whin he scarcely had the right to expict it, and he will appreciate the same.”

  “Ye’re right,” grunted the scout.“He’ll show ye how he’ll appreciate it the minute he gets a chance to draw bead onto yer; but ye’ve larned that thar are plenty of varmints in this section, and if we’re going to get away with this hoss thar ain’t no time to lose. Up with yer thar and take the bridle.”

  Mickey did as he requested, not exactly understanding what the intention was.

  “What is to be done?” he asked, as the head of the animal was turned back over the route that he had just traveled.“Am I to ride alone, while ye walk beside me?”

  “That’s the idea for the present, so as to save the strength of the horse. A half mile or so up the pass is a trail which leads down inter it. The mustang can go over that like a streak of greased lightning, and thar’s whar we’ll leave the pass, and make off through the woods and mountains, till we can jine in with the younker and go it without trouble.”

  A few words of hurried consultation completed the plans. As they were very likely to encounter danger, it was agreed that the scout should go ahead of the horseman, keeping some distance in advance, and car
efully reconnoitering the way before him with a view of detecting anything amiss in time to notify his friend, and prevent his running into it. There might come a chance where it would not be prudent for Sut Simpson to press forward, but where, if the intervening distance was short, Mickey might be able to make a dash for the opening in the pass and escape with his mustang. The Apache, being unhorsed in the manner described, had fled in the opposite direction from that which they intended to follow. Of course he could get around in front, and signal those who were there of what was coming, provided the two whites were tardy in their movements, which they didn’t propose to be.

  It required only a few minutes to effect a perfect understanding, when the scout went a hundred yards or so ahead, moving forward at an ordinary walk, scanning the ravine right, left and in front, and on the watch for the first sign of danger. He had previously so located and described the opening by which they expected to leave the pass, that Mickey was sure he would recognize it the instant they came in sight of it. This was a rather curious method of procedure, but it was continued for a time, and the avenue alluded to was nearly in sight when Sut Simpson, who was a little further than usual in advance, suddenly stopped and raised his hand as a signal for his friend to stop.

  Mickey did so at once, holding the mustang in check, while he watched the scout with the vigilance of a cat. Sut never once looked behind him, but his long form gradually sank down in the grass, until little more than his broad shoulders and a coon-skin cap were visible. The pass at that place was anything but straight, so that the view of Mickey was much less than that of the scout; and, had it been otherwise, it is not likely that the former would have been able to read the signs which were as legible to the latter as the printed pages of a book.

  “Begorrah, but that’s onplisant!” muttered the Irishman to himself, “We must be moighty close onto the door, when some of the spalpeens stick up their heads and object to our going out. Be the powers! but they may object, for all I care. I’m going to make a run for it!”