Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine

by R. B. Townshend

Felipe understood perfectly. In the past three days he and Backus had come to understand one another only too well; there was no formal conspiracy between them; Backus was much too cautious to give himself entirely away to any confederate, more especially to one so green and inexperienced as this Indian boy, but each was perfectly aware of the other's feelings towards the prospector.

"Why shouldn't you jes' go back to your folks for the rest of the day," continued Backus, "and let 'em know how you're getting on? Likely enough the cacique and his son-in-law" (he always alluded to Stephens now as the cacique's son-in-law) "will be going on up there too, and you might chance to hear something interesting if you lie low. You can come back down here again after dark if you like, and I'll do up your arm for you as usual."

Felipe took the hint, and was off at once. The rest and good food, for Backus treated him extremely well—it was part of his game—had quite restored his strength, and except for having to carry his right arm in a sling he felt fit for anything.

Later on in the morning arrived the main party of Mexicans, headed by Don Nepomuceno and his son. They dispersed to their different houses to dispose of their horses and be welcomed back by their families, but they did not lay aside their arms, and it was not very long before they reassembled at the Sanchez house in expectation of the arrival of the other party. The cacique and his three fellow-tribesmen of Santiago preferred not to await the return of the Navajos, but pushed on at once for their own pueblo.

But, for the waiting Mexicans, hour after hour passed and no sign of the Navajos or of Manuelita and Stephens appeared. The sun climbed high in the heavens and sank slowly to the west, and still their coming was delayed. True, their exact route was not known, but it was guessed (and correctly guessed) that it was the short cut through the sierra, and if so it was calculated that they should have arrived long before noon. The anxiety became painful. All sorts of theories to account for the delay were started. There had been a quarrel between Stephens and the Navajos; they had killed him and Manuelita, or had at least made them captives and carried them farther into the wilderness to a securer hiding-place. Or Stephens and Manuelita had made their escape from them during the night, and were now in hiding in the sierra, besieged there, perchance in some cave, and defended by the deadly rifle of the American. Many possible explanations were discussed, and many tales of Navajo treachery recalled to mind; but there was nothing to be done except wait.

Yet the cause of the delay was perfectly simple, and the result of the merest accident. When daylight came, and the sleeping band of Navajos awoke to find that four of their horses had strayed off, the owners immediately started on their trail to recover them, and till they returned Mahletonkwa declined to budge. He absolutely refused to divide his party, or to allow the American and the girl to proceed alone. Under the circumstances there was nothing to be done but wait, and Stephens determined to make the best of it. Hardy as he was, he could not but feel the strain of the efforts he had been making, followed as they were by a whole night on guard. He now left Manuelita to tend the fire and keep a daylight watch; he threw himself on the ground, wrapped in his blanket, under the shade of a bush, drew his hat over his eyes, and in two minutes was fast asleep.

It was well into the afternoon when the four Navajos rode bareback into camp with their truant steeds that had caused all this delay. Manuelita saw them arrive, and was glad to think that the hour for their final departure had come; once more she looked across where Stephens was still sleeping, and seeing that the babbling talk of the Indians, who were already saddling up, did not rouse him, she went over to where he lay and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Oh, Don Estevan," she said in her softest voice; but it was as if she had unwittingly touched the trigger of a gun. She was startled at the suddenness with which he bounded to his feet, broad awake, rifle in hand, the ominous click-clack of the lever sounding loud as he instinctively threw in a cartridge from the magazine; his flashing eyes darted one swift glance around, and then in an instant he recognised that there was no need for disquiet.

"Pshaw!" he said in half-apology, "I guess I was dreaming. Sorry if I startled you, señorita. I suppose I'm on my nerve a bit with all this trouble there's been." He looked at the sun. "By George! but it's afternoon already, and I thought I'd just lain down for a five-minutes' nap. That over there means the Navajos have come in with the lost horses, I suppose?" He indicated the busy folk a little way off, where preparations for the start were going on.

"Yes," she answered, "they have but just arrived with them. That was why I ventured to call you."