Bart saw a score of such tricks as this, and how a patch of sage-brush, that looked as if it would not hide a prairie dog began to send out flashes of fire and puffs of smoke, telling plainly enough that there was an Indian safely ensconced therein.
The Apachés’ attitudes, too, excited his wonder, for they fired face downwards, lying on their sides or their backs, and always from places where there had been no enemy a minute before; while, when he was weary of watching these dismounted men at their ineffective toil, there were their friends out in the plain, who kept on swooping down after leaving their spears stuck in the earth a mile away. They would gallop to within easy range, and then turning their horses’ heads, canter along parallel with the mountain, throw themselves sidewise on the flank of their horse farthest from the place attacked, take aim and fire beneath the animal’s neck, their own bodies being completely hidden by the horse. It is almost needless to say that the shots they fired never did any harm, the position, the bad aim, and the motion of the horse being sufficient to send the bullets flying in the wildest way, either into the plain or high up somewhere on the face of the rock.
All at once this desultory, almost unresisted attack came to an end, as a fresh body of Indians cantered up; many of the latter leading horses, to which the attacking party from the canyon now made their way; and just at sundown the whole body galloped off, without so much as giving the beleaguered ones a farewell shot.
Bart watched them go off in excellent order right away out into the plain, the orange rays of the setting sun seeming to turn the half-nude figures into living bronze. Then the desert began to grow dim, the sky to darken, a few stars to peep out in the pale grey arch, and after a party had been deputed to keep watch, this intermission in the attack was seized upon as the time for making a hearty meal, the sentries not being forgotten.
“And now, Bart,” said the Doctor, “I shall keep the gate myself to-night with half a dozen men. I should like you and Joses to watch in the gallery once more with the Beaver’s men. These Apachés will be back again to-night to try and drive off the capital prize, if they could get it, of our cattle.”
“Very good, sir,” said Bart, cheerily; “I’ll watch.”
“So will I,” growled Joses.
“I wish you had the Beaver to help you. Poor fellow!” said the Doctor, sadly; “his was a wonderful eye. The interpreter will become chief now, I suppose.”
“Perhaps so, sir,” said Bart; “but he says that the Beaver is not dead, but will come back.”
“I would he spoke the truth,” said the Doctor, sadly. “The poor fellow died that we might be saved, like a hero. But there, we have no time for repining. Let us get well into our places before dark. Joses, can you be a true prophet?” he added.