“Let go of me, Hank, there’s five hundred of ’em comin’!”
“I’ll never let go of you,” said Hank. “Carry me off!”
Pike then lifted Hank who was groaning at a terrible rate, and carrying him about two rods, pitched him, neck and heels, into a clump of thorny bushes. This done, Pike rushed down the cañon at the speed of an antelope. Tom rolled on the ground and laughed until he almost smothered himself. “I’m even with Pike on the prickly-pear business!” cried he, as soon as he was able to speak, “he shall never hear the last of this Injun fight!” For my part, now that the fun was all over, I began to feel quite miserable over the whole affair. I feared that in his great fright Pike might dash his brains out against a tree or break his neck among the rocks. I firmly resolved never to take part in another affair of the kind, calling to mind several sham fights and other deviltry in California that had been attended by fatal results to the victims.
In the morning we were ready for a start at sunrise. The first thing I saw was Pike’s hat, lying near the place where he had spread his blankets the night before. The sight gave me quite a shock, as it seemed to be the hat of a dead man. I soon found that the others were beginning to feel much as I did about the matter, for, as Pike’s blankets were being rolled up to be packed on Tom’s horse, one of the boys said: “I hope nothing has happened to Pike.” Another said: “O, he’s all right!” but at the same time it was easy to see that the speaker feared that he was not “all right.”
As we passed down the cañon, I could not help thinking that we should presently find Pike lying wounded or already dead in some rocky pit or pile of boulders near the trail, and most of our party looked quite solemn. The man who carried Pike’s hat looked as though he were in a funeral procession, carrying a portion of the corpse. At length we were through the cañon, and having reached the level plain without finding Pike’s remains, we all felt quite jolly again and immediately set to work and planned another surprise for him, when we should find him. Instead of fording the river, as we had done in going out, we went some two miles further down and crossed at a ferry. We inquired of the colored man in charge if anyone had crossed during the night. He assured us that no one had crossed, as he found the boat tied up on the west bank, as he had left it the evening before.
We now knew that Pike must have crossed at the ford and again began to feel uneasy, fearing that reaching the river in a state of exhaustion, he had plunged in and had been swept under by the current. One of two things was certain: he was either safe across, or was drowned, as the Mississippi itself would not have stayed his flight. On turning into the main street of Chinatown we came suddenly upon a group of men with minie muskets in their hands and in their midst stood Pike, with a handkerchief tied about his head. He had a musket in his hand and was the centre of attraction. We could see that he was telling those about him of the dreadful affair of the previous night. All those surrounding him were listening so intently that we approached without being observed. Pike was just saying: “Yes; Hank may be alive. I carried him about two miles on my back, with the red cusses yellin’ at my heels, then laid him down and kivered him up with brush. But all the rest—” Here Pike turned and saw our party. His jaw dropped, and his eyes almost started from their sockets.
“Well, what of the rest?” said one of his auditors.
“Why, my God! they are all here!” said Pike. “There they all stand!”
The crowd now turned to us, and began to ask: “Who was killed?” “Were there many Indians?” and many other like questions. Not a word of this, however, could we be made to understand. We had seen no Indians; we had never dreamed of any danger from Indians. The whole crowd at once turned to Pike for an explanation. Some of the men hinted that unless he gave a pretty satisfactory explanation of his strange stories he would get into trouble. Pike was thunderstruck and gazed at us with a look of utter helplessness. At last he stammered: “Tom, wasn’t you killed?”
“If I was killed I wouldn’t be here, would I?”