"What?" exclaimed the commander. "Kah-go-mish? That is enough. It was worth what it cost."
An hour or so later all that was left, a dozen out of the score who had ridden with the chief, caught up with their band. They came in silence until they were very near. The entire train halted, and a sort of shudder seemed to run through it. Not so should a war-party have returned, under the leadership of Kah-go-mish. There should have been a well-known voice, sounding its accustomed whoop of triumph. Instead of it another voice arose, long drawn and mournfully. It was the death-whoop of the Apaches, and it was answered by a woman's involuntary wail, for Wah-wah-o-be knew that the signal had been given for Kah-go-mish.
Crooked Nose had not been with the chief's party, but had ridden by Cal as a special keeper. The instant he heard the death-whoop he turned to his charge and said, in a not unfriendly manner: "Pull stick got bad manitou. Ugh! All Apache heap mad. Heap kill. Great chief gone dead. All paleface die. Heap bad medicine."
Chapter XXXVI.
HOW CAL WAS LEFT ALL ALONE.
All that Crooked Nose had said about the grief and wrath of the Apaches over the loss of Kah-go-mish was true, but Cal seemed for a few hours to be almost forgotten.
"Tan-tan-e-o-tan is a great chief," said the warrior upon whom the direction of affairs appeared as a matter of course to fall.
He was the short, intoed, bow-legged brave who had been accustomed to command in the now dead leader's absence, and he had never yet told anybody how much he envied and hated Kah-go-mish. His first duty was to get away from the Mexicans without losing any more braves or horses, and there was no time for mourning. He then saw before him an immediate path to safety if not to glory, and he determined to follow it. He did not know that he had determined to carry out the great plan of Kah-go-mish.