Cal Evans, sitting by the fire and toasting his bacon in the camp of the Apaches, knew nothing of what was to happen that day in all those other places. He was ignorant of what had already occurred, except to himself. His strongest feeling, at that moment, was grief for what he knew must be the anxiety of his father, and for what he feared that his mother would suffer when his father should get home without him. He had passed a wonderful night, and it seemed to have made an older boy of him.
The dawn was brightening fast when he took his first cup of coffee. He was very hungry, and he picked up a piece of corn bread to eat with it. The fact that it was stale, and that it had been upon the ground, did not make any difference to a fellow who had been staked out, and who was very likely to be upon his back again very soon, or tied to a torture-post.
As for his two guards, he did not know nor care that they had aroused several other braves, and that all of them were rummaging the forest, near the cypress, in search of any trail he might have left behind him. Each brave in turn had re-examined the forked stakes and had expressed his wonder. According to them, Cal was "Heap snake" and "Heap bad medicine." They were at work upon their mystery, and he upon a piece of toasted bacon, when he heard an almost musical "Ugh," behind him, followed by other grunts, in which there was no music whatever.
The first sound came from a woman's voice, and, when he turned around, there stood Wah-wah-o-be. She had risen early in order that the chief's breakfast might be ready for him upon his return from his morning look at the corral. The other exclamations were uttered by three dog-soldiers, whose patrol duty had brought them to that camp-fire.
"How," said Cal, holding out his hand. "Good squaw. Give boy water."
Then he remembered that she had answered him very well in Spanish, and he said something in that tongue about the coffee and bacon, and told the three dog-soldiers that they were very fine-looking fellows.
It was not impudence, and it was not cunning, for it was nothing more nor less than desperation, but he could not have acted more wisely. While he was exchanging morning greetings with the dusky policemen, yet another brave came hurriedly up, and, the moment he saw Cal, he uttered an astonished whoop. He was one of the pair set to watch him, and he had come in great trepidation to announce the escape of the prisoner. Under other circumstances he might have even used violence, but a captive was safe in the hands of the dog-soldiers, and he did but stare in Cal's face as if in doubt as to his being there.
Cal's mocking coolness was not at all exhausted, for he felt too badly to be afraid. He held out his hand.
"How," he said. "Good-looking Indian. Drive heap stick."
"Ugh!" said the puzzled savage. "How boy get away?"