An Indian Story.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
Chapter XII.
uring one part of the journey Steve Harrison and Murray had found the ledge along the mountain-side pretty rough travelling, but after a while they succeeded in getting out on to the comparatively smooth slope of the pine forest.
"Our only risk now is that we may meet some of their hunters up here after game. We'll push right on."
"I'll fight if it can't be helped, Murray, but I'd a good deal rather not meet anybody."
"We must find a hiding-place for the horses, and creep down into the valley on foot. I'll show you some new tricks to-day."
After searching some time, they tethered their horses between two rocks, where the thickly woven vines overhead made almost a dark stable for them.
"Now, Steve, a good look up and down, and we're off."
Between them, and what could be called "the road" were many yards of tangled growth, and before they had gotten through it, Steve felt his arm gripped hard.
"Listen! Horses coming. Lie still."
A minute more and they were both willing to lie as still as mice, for they had nearly walked into the very cover chosen by Bill and his two comrades in which to wait for their intended prisoners.
They and their horses were hardly twenty feet from Steve and Murray.
Suddenly Murray whispered: "Two young squaws. The foolish things are coming right into the trap."
"Can't we help 'em?"
"They're Apache squaws, Steve."
"I don't care. I'm white."
"So am I. Tell you what, Steve— Ha! I declare!"
"What's the matter, Murray."
"One of 'em's white. Sure's you live. They sha'n't touch a hair of their heads."
The expression of Murray's face astonished Steve. It was ghastly white under all its tan and sunburn, and the wrinkles seemed twice as deep as usual, while the fire in his sunken eyes was fairly blazing.
"There's an Indian coming."
"Apache. After the squaws. Don't you hear his whoop? I suppose they'll shoot him first thing, but they won't send a bullet at the girls. They're a bad crowd. Worse than Apache Indians."
"I don't consider them white men."
"Not inside, they ain't. I'd rather be a Lipan."
The two merry, laughing girls rode by in happy ignorance of the danger that was lurking in the thicket, and Red Wolf galloped swiftly on to join them. Then the three miners, with Bill at their head, sprang out of their cover.
"Look out, boys. Don't use your rifles. Thar must be plenty more within hearin'."
"We'll have to kill the brave."
"Of course. Git close to him, though. No noise. I'd like not to give him a chance to so much as whoop."
They never dreamed of looking behind.
"They've start enough now," growled Murray. "Come on, Steve. Step like a cat. We must take them unawares. Have your tie-up ready."
The buckskin thongs which hang from the belt, or shoulder, or knee of an Indian warrior are not all put there for ornament. They are for use in tying things, and they are terribly strong.
The two men saw Red Wolf join his sisters; they heard the startled cries of Rita and Ni-ha-be, the demand for their surrender, and Red Wolf's reply.
"Now, Steve, quick! Do just as I tell you."
Twang! went Ni-ha-be's bow at that instant, and the man next to Bill was raising his rifle to fire, when his arms were suddenly seized by a grasp of iron, and jerked behind him.
"Right at the elbows, Steve. Draw the loop hard. Quick!"
As the second miner turned in his tracks, he was astonished by a blow between the eyes that laid him flat.
"Give it up, boys. Don't one of ye lift a hand."
Bill could not lift his, with the arrow in his arm. The man Steve had tied could not move his elbows. The man on the ground was ruefully looking into the barrel of Murray's rifle. Besides, here was Red Wolf springing forward, with his lance in one hand and his revolver in the other. Rita held his horse, while Ni-ha-be sat upon her own, with her second arrow on the string.
"We give it up," said Bill; "but what are you fellows up to? I see. You're the two miners, and you're down on us because we jumped your claim to that thar gold ledge."
Red Wolf lowered his lance, and stuck his pistol in his belt. "Your prisoners; not mine," he said to Murray. "Glad to meet friend. Come in good time."
Murray answered, short and sharp: "Young brave, take friend's advice. Jump on horse. Take young squaws back to camp. Tell chief to ride hard. Kill pony. Get away fast."
"Who shall I tell him you are?"
"Say you don't know. Tell him I'm an enemy. Killed you. Killed young squaws. Going to kill him."
There was a sort of grim humor in Murray's face as he said that. Not only Red Wolf, but the two girls, understood it.
Steve had not said a word, but he was narrowly watching the three miners for any signs of an effort to get loose.
"It's that other one, Steve. He's watching his chance. That's it. Draw it hard. Now he won't be cutting any capers."
The expression of the miner's eyes promised the unfriendliest kind of "capers" if he should ever get an opportunity to cut them.
"It's no use, boys," said Bill. "Mister, will you jest cut this arrer close to my arm, so's I can pull it out?"
"I will in a minute. It's as good as a tie of deer-skin jest now. Watch 'em, Steve!"
He walked forward, and looked long and hard into the face of Rita.
"'THEY'D BETTER HAVE KILLED HER, LIKE THEY DID MINE.'"
"Too bad! too bad! They'd better have killed her, like they did mine. It's awful to think of a white girl growing up to be a squaw. Ride for your camp, young man. I'll take care of these three."
"I will send out warriors to help you. You shall see them all burned and cut to pieces."
"Oh, Rita," whispered Ni-ha-be, "they ought to be burned!"
Rita was gazing at the face of old Murray, and did not say a word in reply.
"Come," said Red Wolf; "the great chief is waiting for us."
And then he added, to Murray and Steve:
"The lodges of the Apaches are open to their friends. You will come?"
"Steve, you had better say yes. It may be a lift for you."
"I will come some day," said Steve, quickly. "I don't know when."
"The white head must come too. He has the heart of an Apache, and his hand is strong for his friends. We must go now."
He looked at the three miners for a moment, as if he disliked leaving them behind, and then he bounded upon his pony, and the two girls followed him.
"Was he not handsome, Rita?"
Ni-ha-be was thinking of Steve Harrison, but Rita replied:
"Oh, very handsome! His hair is white, and his face is wrinkled, but he is so good. He is a great warrior, too. The bad pale-face went down before him like a small boy."
"His hair is not white. It is brown. His face is not wrinkled. He is a young brave. He will be a chief."
"Oh, that other one. I hardly looked at him. I hope they will come. I want to see them again."
Red Wolf rode fast, and did not pause until he reached the very presence of Many Bears and his counsellors.
There were already signs, in all directions, that the camp was beginning to break up, as well as tokens of impatience on the face of the chief.
"Where go?" he said, angrily. "Why do young squaws ride away when they are wanted?"
Ni-ha-be was about to answer, but Red Wolf had his own story to tell first. It was eagerly listened to.
Pale-face enemies so near? Who could they be? White friends too, ready to fight for them, and send them warning of danger? That was more remarkable yet.
A trusty chief and a dozen braves were instantly ordered to dash into the pass, bring back the prisoners, and learn all they could of the friendly pale-faces.
Perhaps Steve Harrison would hardly have felt proud of the name which was given him on the instant.
The only feat the Apaches knew of his performing was the thorough manner in which he had tied up the two miners. So, for lack of any other name, they spoke of him as the "Knotted Cord." Murray was named "Send Warning." He had actually earned a "good name" among his old enemies.
Rita and Ni-ha-be were saved any further scolding. The chief was too anxious to ask questions of the "talking leaves," now he was sure of the neighborhood of danger.
"Ask about the bad pale-faces. Who are they?"
Rita took her magazines from the folds of her antelope-skin tunic with trembling hands, for she was beginning to understand that they could not tell her of things which were to be. It seemed to her in that moment that she could not remember a single word of English.
The one she opened first was not that which contained the pictures of the cavalry; but Rita's face instantly brightened. There were five or six pages, each of which contained a picture of men engaged in mining for gold.
The chief gravely turned the leaves till he came to a sketch that drew from him a sharp and sullen "Ugh!"
There were the sturdy miners, with rifles instead of picks, making a gallant charge upon a party of Indians.
"No need of talk. Great chief see for himself. No lie. I remember. Kill some of them. Rest got away. Now they come to strike the Apaches. Ugh!"
It was only a "fancy sketch"; but it must have been true to life when an Apache chief could say he had been one of the very crowd of Indians who were being shot at in the picture.
"That do. Talk more by-and-by. Big fight come."
Many Bears rapidly transformed his buffalo-hunters into "warriors." All that was needed was a chance to put on their war-paint, and a double allowance of cartridges.
When that was done, they made a formidable-looking array, and the last chance of the Lipans or any other enemies for "surprising" them was gone. Then they rode slowly on after their women and children, and the braves came back from the pass to report to Many Bears that "Send Warning, Knotted Cord, and their three prisoners had gone, no one could guess whither."