Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine

by R. B. Townshend

"You'll be all right now," said Stephens; "you've nothing to fear." He deliberately assumed a security he was far from feeling, but it was part of the game he must play. Her little hand still lay in his; it was the first time it had ever done so; it seemed as if the firm pressure of his strong fingers must reassure this poor terrified young thing, the wild leaping of whose pulses he could feel. Her breast heaved convulsively as she strove to control her sobs; the great tear-drops gathered under her eyelids and ran down her cheeks.

"Great God!" he said, "that you should have suffered like this! But don't be afraid; we'll get you out of this all right." His voice sounded in his own ears strained and unnatural. He was trying his best to play his part by appearing cheerful and consolatory, while at that very same moment the strongest feeling in him was a burning, fierce desire to pump lead into the gang of savages who had made this tender creature suffer this agony of terror. And but for her presence he might have done it there and then. To preserve her, however, it was above all things necessary to temporise; and to preserve her must be his first thought. He must hear her own story and consult with her on his next move; but to do that he must talk in Spanish, which Mahletonkwa understood. What a pity she did not speak English, but that could not be helped. How could he manage to take her out of earshot.

"Oh, where is my father? where is Andrés?" she sobbed, in a passion of fear for the possible fate of her own people. "I heard two shots, and then I heard no more. Were they there?"

"Oh, they're all right," said the American heartily, in the very cheerfullest tones he could muster. "Don't you fret, señorita," and he patted reassuring the little hand he held in his, loosing his grip of his rifle to do so and squeezing the trusty weapon against his body with his elbow. "It was only me out there that they were shooting at; no harm done. Your father and brother are all right." Nevertheless this repetition by her of her anxious inquiries brought a disturbing idea into his head. Had she any special reason for thinking that her father and her brother were wounded or slain? Could the cacique's conjecture have been true, and had the Mexicans overtaken Mahletonkwa's band on the Mesa del Verendo and fought with them there and been beaten off? He longed to ask her about this, but he did not like to do so within hearing of the Navajos. Still, he reflected, Mahletonkwa would hardly have met him so boldly if there was fresh blood on his hands. Ah, but he might have done that to lure him into this trap; and now, behold, here he was in the wolf's lair! Thoughts raced through his mind like lightning. Then he spoke.

"Mahletonkwa, I suppose you make no objection to her coming with me now?"

"Not go," was the somewhat ominous reply; "stay here; sit down; talk."

"But I want to talk to her by herself," he said; "I suppose you won't object, then, if we go to the middle of the meadow and sit down there?"

"Not go," repeated the Indian deliberately; "yes, you can go and sit in there if you like," and he pointed to the overhanging side of the lava bed, close to which was the camp.

"He means the cave there where the water is," quickly interposed the girl, who was by this time recovering the control of her voice, though her breast still heaved convulsively.