In an hour more all the provisions they could need for several days, more blankets and pillows, all the arms and ammunition, all the harness and horse equipments had been lugged up to and safely stowed in and about the cave. "They'll burn the wagons, blast them!" muttered Pike to himself, "but we can leave the horses there. They won't harm them because they will want them to get away with in case they find the cavalry on their trail. The chances are the horses can be recovered, but darn me if I'll let 'em have saddle, bridle or harness to run off anything with." Then once more he had climbed to his post and was diligently watching the road, while Jim, obedient to orders, was rolling rocks and bowlders around to the opening of the cave.
"What's thim for?" demanded Kate.
"Corporal Pike's goin' to build a wall here to keep out the bears," said Jim, with lowered voice and a significant glance at the children prattling happily together at the back of the cave, and poor Kate knew 'twas no use asking questions.
And now, through the glasses, Pike could see the Tontos gathered on the low hillock which had been the western limit of his morning ride. They seemed to have come suddenly upon "Gregg's" hoof prints and to have halted for consultation. Full half an hour they tarried there and the children began to clamor for the promised luncheon. Sauntering down by a roundabout way the veteran picked up an armful of dry twigs, sticks and dead boughs and tossed them down at the mouth of the cave. Then, behind the rock, he built a small fire of the dryest twigs he could find, explaining that he didn't want smoke in the dining room, and soon had his skillet heating and his kettle of water at the boil. Jim was directed to cook all that was needed for luncheon and to have plenty for the captain, who would be sure to come back mighty hungry in course of the afternoon, and the corporal was speedily at his post again. What could it mean? The Tontos were still hanging about that little hill six miles out there on the plain. Was it possible they had abandoned the pursuit?
Noon came; one o'clock, two o'clock. They had all had luncheon, and Pike had been scrambling up and down the rock like a monkey, and still there was no forward movement of the foe. Every time he looked they were still lounging or squatting, so he judged, about the stunted trees on the knoll, and there was nothing to explain the delay. It must have three o'clock when at last the binocular told him they were again in motion and coming rapidly toward him. He could see the dirty white breech-clouts floating in the breeze and could almost distinguish the forms of the warriors themselves. Leaving his glass on the top of the ledge he slid down to the base again, called quietly to Jim, and the two men set to work to build their breastwork. Bowlders big and little, rocks of every possible shape and size were all around them, and in three-quarters of an hour they had a stout parapet fully four feet high, whose loopholes commanded the approach up the hillside, and yet were secure from fire from above, below or either flank. Then back he went to his watch-tower.
* * *
THE TWO MEN SET TO WORK TO BUILD THEIR BREASTWORK.
* * *
The instant he adjusted the glass and levelled it at the road, Pike gave vent to an expletive that need not be recorded here, but that indicated in him a most unusual degree of excitement. No wonder. The Tontos were now in plain view—only two miles and a half out there on the plain,—and though they were spread out, as a rule, to the right and left of the road, quite a number of them came jogging along the road itself, and right in the midst of these, led by an Indian in front and guarded by two or three in rear—were the missing mules. Even at that distance Pike could swear to them. On they came, rapidly, relentlessly, well knowing that even if their human prey had escaped them the big wagon must be somewhere about the Pass and loaded still with provisions. Nearer—nearer jogged the leaders; but now the old trooper was carefully studying a dark object on the back of the foremost mule—a pack of some kind—and marvelling what it could be,—wondering, too, what they had done with their prisoner. He was sure they had one as they came along that morning. At last they were within a mile of the heights and the western entrance to the Pass, and now their speed slackened. They began opening out farther and farther to the right and left, and the nearer they came to the foothills the slower and steadier became their advance. The mules and their attendants were kept well in the background and for the life of him Pike could not tell what that queer looking "pack" could be. Slowly, steadily, the Tonto skirmish line came on. Every moment brought them nearer to the mouth of the Pass. The sun was low down in the west and threw long shadows of the approaching foe before them. Little by little, crouching, almost crawling, the more daring spirits among them would give a spring and a rapid run to the front of forty or fifty yards. Evidently they expected to be greeted with a sharp fire somewhere about the Pass, and did not dare push ahead in their usual order. And now they had reached the entrance to the defile. Two or three, as flankers, remained well out to the right and left among the trees; two or three stole cautiously ahead down the road. Pike watched their every move, yet found himself every few seconds fixing his gaze on that foremost mule now placidly cropping the scant herbage while the skirmish line pushed ahead. Presently a signal of some kind was given and repeated. The Indians in charge of the mules hastened with them to the mouth of the Pass, and as they did so, that singular pack came closer under Pike's powerful glass.
"It's their prisoner," he uttered. "They have driven and goaded him until he fainted from exhaustion. Then they had to wait for the mules to be brought up to the hillock—then lashed the poor fellow upon the back of one of them and pushed ahead." For some purpose of their own they were keeping him alive, and death by fearful torture was something to be looked forward to in the near future. The corporal continued to gaze as though fascinated until the leading mule got almost under him, and then he gave a groan of helplessness and misery as he exclaimed, "My God! My God! It's Manuelito!"
* * *
CHAPTER VI.
MANUELITO'S FATE.
For ten minutes Pike remained at his post of observation on top of the rock, watching the Indians as they slowly and cautiously moved down the Pass in the direction of the abandoned camp. The children, worn out with their play, and the fatigues of the climb, were sleeping soundly in the little cave on the peak,—Nellie, with her fair head pillowed in patient Kate's lap. Black Jim, too, was lying where the sun shone full upon him, and snoring away as placidly as earlier in the morning.
Kate, far back in the cave, had no idea what was going on in the Pass below; but her soul was still filled with dread and anxiety. The old trooper knew well that just as soon as the Indians came to the wagons and found them abandoned, their first care would be to secure all the plunder from them possible. Then they would probably dispose of Manuelito after their own cruel designs; and then, if darkness did not come on in the meantime, they would probably begin their search for the fugitives. There would be no difficulty to Indian trailers in following their track up the mountain side; of this Pike was well assured. But the wary old trooper had taken the precaution, every time that he and Jim had gone to and from the camp, to take a roundabout path, so as to bring their trail around the base of the mountain in front of the cave, and in this way the Indians in following would come directly in front of their barricade at the mouth and from sixty to a hundred yards down the hill and within easy range and almost sure shot of the defenders.
And now, peering down into the road far below, Pike could see that the leading Indians had come in sight of the big baggage wagon and that they were signalling to those in the rear, for almost instantly three or four sinewy, athletic young fellows sprang up among the trees and bowlders on the north side of the Pass, and crouching like panthers, half crawling, half springing, they went flitting from rock to rock or tree to tree until lost to the view of the lone watcher on the great ledge, but it was evident that their purpose was to reconnoitre the position from that side, as well as to surround the objects of their pursuit should they still be there. Almost at the same instant, too, an equal number of the Tontos came leaping lik
e goats a short distance up the slope towards Pike's unconscious garrison, but speedily turned eastward, and, adopting precisely the same tactics as those of their comrades across the road, rapidly, but with the utmost stealth and noiselessness, bore down on the abandoned nook.
"Mighty lucky we got out of that and found this," muttered Pike. "It won't be five minutes before they satisfy themselves that there is no one left to defend those wagons or the horses—and the moment they realize it there'll be a yell of delight."
Sure enough! After a brief interval of silence, there came from below a shout of exultation, answered instantly by triumphant yells from the Indians in the roadway, and echoed by a wail of mortal terror from poor Kate, crouching below in the cave. Pike lost no time in sliding down the rocks and striving to comfort her. Nellie, clinging to her nurse, was terrified by the sounds. Little Ned, pale, but with his boyish face set and determined, grasped once more his little Ballard rifle, and looked up in the corporal's face as much as to say: Count on me for one of your fighting men! Trembling, shivering and calling on the blessed saints, poor Kate stood there wringing her hands, the very personification of abject fright. Jim, coming around to the mouth of the cave, spoke sternly to her; told her she ought to be ashamed of herself for setting so bad an example to little Nell. "Look at Ned," he said, "see how the little man behaves; his father would be proud of him." And then Pike spoke up. "Don't worry, don't be so afraid, Kate; they have got all they want just now. They'll just plunder and gorge themselves with food, and then they will have Manuelito to amuse themselves with. It is getting too late in the day for them to attempt to follow us. They have got too much to occupy themselves with anyhow. Don't you worry, old girl; if they do come this way, as they may to-morrow morning, we'll give them a dose that will make them wish they had never seen a Yankee."
* * *
NELLIE, CLINGING TO HER NURSE, WAS TERRIFIED BY THE SOUNDS.
* * *
The Indian shouts redoubled; every accent was that of triumph. They were evidently rejoicing over the rich find in the ambulance and the baggage wagon. Of course a great deal of property had been left there for which Pike's party would have no possible use up here in the cave, and this included plenty of food. The horses, too, delighted the Tontos, and, as Pike said, they would doubtless be occupied some little time with the division of the spoils, and longer in having a grand feast.
Looking down the road he could see the two mules browsing peacefully side by side, Manuelito still lashed to the back of one of them. Two young Indians stood guard over him and their four-footed captives; but even these fellows were by no means forgotten, for every now and then Pike could see their friends running back to them with something to eat and, after exchanging a word or two, hurrying again to the wagons.
After a while poor Kate, partially assured by Pike's words, but more shamed into silence by the bravery of little Ned, subsided into a corner of the cave, and there seated herself, moaning and weeping, but no longer making any outcry. Pike decided that it would be necessary for him to go once more to his watch-tower, and as far as he could, watch the programme of the Apaches the rest of the day. Before starting, however, he called up Jim and gave him his instructions: "You see that the sun is almost down. The chances are that they will be so much interested in what they have found that darkness will settle down upon us before they fairly get through with their jubilee. Then, again, it may be that the bloody hounds will have some fun of their own with poor Manuelito to-night. I've no sympathy for the scoundrel, but I can't bear the idea of one who has served with us so long being tortured before our very eyes. We can't help it, however, there are only two of us here, and our first object is to protect these poor little children, and that wretched old Kate of a nurse there. Stay here with your rifle behind the barricade. I'll whistle if any Indian attempts to follow our trail; then I'll come down here as quickly as possible. But keep a bright lookout yourself. Watch those trees down there to the front. Note everything occurring along the road as far as you can see. There goes one of the beggars back to that point now. Even in the midst of their fun they don't neglect precautions. See! he's going to climb up there on that little hill just where I was watching this morning. Yes, there he goes. Now you will see him lie down flat when he gets to the top, and peer over the rocks to the west. What he is looking out for, I don't know, but it may be that they expect the cavalry even more than we do. They possibly have had signal fires from the reservation warning them that the cavalry have already left the Verde. I hope and pray they have. Now, keep up your grit, Jim; don't let anything phaze you. If you want help, or see anything, whistle, and I'll come down."
Already it was growing darker down the gorge. Pike could see that the Apaches had lighted a fire in the road close to the wagons. Evidently they were going to begin some cooking on their own account, and were even now distributing the provisions they had found. Two of them had released Manuelito from the mule, and the poor devil was now seated, bound and helpless, on a rock by the roadside, looking too faint and terrified to live. The captain's field glass revealed a sorry sight to the old soldier's eyes as he peered down at the little throng of savages about the baggage wagon, now completely gutted of its contents; and though he despised the Mexican as a traitor and thief and coward, it was impossible not to feel compassion for him in his present awful plight. There was something most pitiable in the fellow's clasped hands and abject despair. He had lived too long in Arizona not to know the fate reserved for prisoners taken by the Indians, and he knew, and Pike knew, that, their hunger once satisfied, the chances were ten to one they would then turn their attention entirely to their captive, and have a wild and furious revel as they slowly tortured him to death.
* * *
THE POOR DEVIL WAS NOW SEATED, BOUND AND HELPLESS, ON A ROCK BY THE ROADSIDE.
* * *
The sun had gone down behind the range, far over to the west, as Pike reached once more the top of his watch-tower, and every moment the darkness deepened down the Pass. Up here he could not only see the baggage wagon in the road, but the top of the ambulance, and two of the horses were also visible, and occasionally the lithe forms of the Tontos scurrying about in the firelight. Evidently the old cook fire in the cleft of the rocks had been stirred up and was now being utilized by half the band, while the others toasted the bacon and roasted frijoles down in the road. The yells had long since ceased. Many of the warriors were squatting about the baggage wagon gnawing at hard bread or other unaccustomed luxuries, but those at the ambulance were chattering like so many monkeys and keeping up a hammering, the object of which Pike could not at first imagine, until he suddenly remembered the locked box under the driver's seat, the key of which was always carried by the captain. Then a flash of hope shot over him as he recalled the fact that when they left their station Captain Gwynne had stowed away in there three or four bottles of whiskey or brandy. It would take them but a little while, he knew, to break into the enclosure, and then there would be a bacchanalian scene.
"Oh, that it were a barrel instead of a bottle or two," groaned Pike. "As it is there's just enough to exhilarate the gang and keep them, singing and dancing all night; but a barrel!—that would stupefy them one after another and Jim and I could have gone down and murdered the whole crowd. Not one of 'em would ever have known what hurt him."
Ha! a sound of crashing, splitting wood. A rush, a scuffle—then a yell of triumph and delight. Every Indian in the roadway sprang to his feet and darted off up the rocks to swell the chorus at the ambulance. Even Manuelito's guard left his prisoner to take care of himself and ran like a deer to claim his share of the madly craved "fire water." A few years before and most of them hardly knew its taste, but some of their number had more than once made "John Barleycorn's" acquaintance and had told wondrous tales of its effects. In less than a minute, with the single exception of their sentry on the hill, every Tonto was struggling, shouting, laughing and leaping about the family wagon, and Pike knew from the sounds that the c
aptain's little store of liquor was rapidly disappearing. Every moment the noise waxed louder and fiercer as the deep potations of the principal Indians did their poisonous work. There were shrill altercations, vehement invective and reproach; Pike even hoped for a minute that there had been enough after all to start them fighting among themselves, but the hope was delusive. All was gloom and darkness now in the Pass except immediately around the two fires. He could no longer see Manuelito or the mules, but suddenly he heard a sound of a simultaneous rush and an instant after with hideous shouts and yells the whole band leaped into view and went tearing down into the road and up to the rocks where their helpless prisoner still sat bound and helpless—more dead than alive—and Pike heard the shriek of despair with which the poor fellow greeted his now half crazy captors.
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