Chapter XXXIII.
LEAVING THE BAD-MEDICINE CAMP
The camp in the chaparral at Cold Spring was astir before daylight that next morning. Every soul seemed to want a look at the Manitou Water, as well as a drink of it, immediately upon waking. Tongue after tongue declared, in English, Spanish, or Apache: "Just as it was before, only it runs a little stronger." That is, the avalanche had raised the level of the water in the mountain reservoir and the pressure was greater. Every season must have witnessed very much the same changes in the conduct of Cold Spring, but, as a rule, without any human eyes to take note of them. The sage-hens, the jackass rabbits and the antelopes had kept no record.
Cal's father was a sad-hearted man when he mounted his big black horse. He was turning his face homeward without Cal, and he almost forgot that he had come in search of stolen horses.
Ping and Tah-nu-nu were given their own ponies, and were as ready for a start as was anybody else. As they reached the path-opening by which they were to go away, they turned and took a long look at the Manitou Water. It flowed on steadily, without a jump of any sort.
"Ugh!" said Ping. "Manitou sleep."
Colonel Evans and his cowboys, Captain Moore and his cavalry, all did the same thing, but not one of them made the same remark. The three remaining Chiricahua scouts also looked, and the old brave who had told stories to Ping and Tah-nu-nu shook his head, saying something about Kah-go-mish and bad medicine. He was thinking of the fourth Chiricahua who had been the first man of that expedition to drink of the bubbling snow-water.
"Have you any idea when or where we shall get our next news of Cal?" asked Captain Moore, as he rode along at the head of his column.
"No," said Colonel Evans, "but you can count upon one thing, they will try to steal away Ping and Tah-nu-nu. Every movement must be watched. Kah-go-mish and his band are far enough away by this time."
The keenest calculations are sometimes at fault. A sharp gallop of three or four hours across the desert might have brought a rider from the chaparral very near the camp of the Apaches. If the palefaces, moreover, knew nothing of the movements or plans of the chief, he did not propose to be equally ignorant of their own. Hardly were they well away from the spring before something began to stir under the bushes behind the great cactus on the western side of the open. Then a human head became visible, and in a minute more a tall Apache warrior was stalking around the spring as if he were trying to find anything which the pale-faces might have left behind them. He was in no manner disposed to talk to himself, and his inspection was soon completed. After that, a half-mile of walking through the chaparral brought him to a bush where one of the stolen Evans horses was tied. He mounted and rode away, and when he left the chaparral he did not take the trail which the band had before followed, but struck off across the desert in a southeasterly direction.
If he had any intention of going back to the "bad-medicine camp-ground," he was making a mistake, because the lodges of Kah-go-mish were no longer there. The Apache scout who came hurrying in, after the hurricane was over and just before sunset the previous evening, had been very near to not getting in at all. He had been all but intercepted by a strong column of Mexican horsemen. The storm had helped him to escape from them, but beyond all doubt he would be followed.
"Kah-go-mish is a great chief!" loudly exclaimed the Mescalero statesman, and he added his own explanation of this new peril. These were not the Mexicans who had lost the pack-mules; not the command of Colonel Romero. They were probably the very force which had made a target of him as he stood so heroically upon the bowlder, and into whose camp he had afterwards so daringly ventured after horses and plunder.
He knew that they were numerous, and he had no thought of fighting them. It was too late and too dark, he said, to begin any march that evening, but every lodge must come down, every pack must be made ready, and the band must move before daylight.
Cal had no idea how narrow had been his own escape from the cruel results of Indian superstition, but he had overheard enough to understand the present flurry and the packing. He sat down, not far from one of the rekindled camp-fires, and watched the proceedings. It made him feel bluer than ever to know that civilized soldiers were so very near. He saw his cougar brought in and skinned, and he ate a piece of the broiled meat cooked for him by Wah-wah-o-be. The moon arose and looked down through the tree-tops, but Cal did not feel like sleeping, although his wet clothing had ceased to steam, and he felt almost dry.
The lodges were all down at last, and everything seemed quiet, when there came to Cal's ears precisely the same boding hoot that had sounded among the cypress branches above him when he was staked out.
"Must be the biggest kind of an owl," he muttered, but instantly he heard just such a sound again very near him.
He turned to look for the second owl, and there he stood, with one hand at his mouth, for this owl was Kah-go-mish, and he was distributing news and orders among his band.
There were rapid movements in all directions after that hooting. Pack-mules were led in. Squaws toiled hard and warriors worked like so many squaws. The horses of Kah-go-mish were led to the spot where his lodge had been, and one of them, bridled but without any saddle, was assigned to Cal with orders to mount at once. He had hardly done so before he heard near him a whinny that he knew.
"Dick," he said, "old fellow! Don't I wish I were on your back!"
His own saddle was there, and his own rifle and some other weapons were strapped to it. Other property was securely fastened upon them, and for that journey, at least, the red mustang had been turned into a pack-pony. He seemed to almost feel humiliated and downcast, but was otherwise in his usual condition, so far as his master could see.
Hoot! Hoot! Hoot! came the owl cries from the forest westward, and the braves in charge of the shadowy train began to urge it forward.
"Pull Stick, look!"
It was the voice of Crooked Nose, and he was tapping his carbine meaningly.
Cal nodded, but did not speak, for he understood the warning. His life was hanging by a thread, and he was in need of all the caution he possessed.
Every camp-fire was heaped high with fuel before it was left behind, and the forest was all the darker by contrast. The Apaches managed to pick their way, with the aid of torches. It did not seem to Cal that they had ridden far before the trees grew thinner, and there was more moonlight. Then there were no trees; a little farther on and there were no bushes; all was plain enough then, for the bare desert was reached, and Cal knew by the stars that the band was heading in an easterly direction well out from the line of timber.
Hardly had he said to himself, "Kah-go-mish got away in time, anyhow," before he heard a muffled tumult in the forest behind him. Every animal in the train was pushed more rapidly.
"Mexicans!" exclaimed Wah-wah-o-be. "Find fire. No find Kah-go-mish. Ugh!"
A sharp rattle of distant musketry offered her a sort of angry reply, but it only drew a laugh from Wah-wah-o-be.
The great chief she admired had been compelled to hurry up his plans, but he had not been caught in the surprise skilfully prepared for him by the Mexican commander. That officer had acted with energy and good judgment. He had determined to attack the Apaches in their camp at night, and he had not wasted an hour. He had deserved success, but he had not won it. The Apache owls had defeated him.
As the silent Mexican columns worked their slow way through the forest, they had remarked upon the uncommon number and wakefulness of those night-birds. They were in three divisions, dismounted for better work in the woods, and each division met its own owls, or seemed to. They saw the glare of the camp-fires and moved more slowly, with greater caution, in excellent order, until they had all but surrounded the bad-medicine camp-ground. A bugle-note gave them a signal for a simultaneous shout, and they shouted. Another bade them fire a volley towards the camp-fires, and they fired it. A third bugle sounded the charge, and the Mexicans dashed in magnificently. If there had been any Apaches there, not an Indian could have escaped, or at least not a pony or a lodge.
"Kah-go-mish has gone!" roared the disappointed officer, and his entire command agreed with him, but not a soul of them all could guess in what direction, by any light that the chief had left behind him.
As for Cal Evans, he had received an important lesson concerning the ways and wiles of Indian warfare, and his own escape seemed more impossible than before.
Chapter XXXIV.
TAH-NU-NU'S DISAPPOINTMENT
Santa Lucia seemed to be under a cloud, in spite of the bright June weather. Vic grew more and more uneasy, and did not try to conceal it. She was not able to understand how her mother maintained such an external appearance of self-possession.
"I wish we had two letters a day from them," she exclaimed for the third or fourth time.
"One would satisfy me. Oh dear! Why can't we know something about them!" responded Mrs. Evans, and the broken serenity helped Vic.
Perhaps it was as well that no letter came, since any written from Cold Spring would have carried the dark tidings which Colonel Evans was bringing home with him.
Captain Moore made a push that morning straight across the desert, that he might reach water and pasturage before noon if possible. The sun was hot, and frequent halts were needful for the horses, but the forced march was made with perfect success.
"Well, boys," exclaimed the captain, at last, "I'm glad to see grass again."
"Seven hours," the sergeant responded, "is a sharp pull, captain; how far do you think we've come?"
"Twenty-five miles of gravel," said the captain. "There! Glad of that!"
A whoop from a Chiricahua scout, in advance, announced at that moment that water had been found. It was a tree-shaded pool, evidently fed by springs. Around it was a bit of forest, and outside of that were scattered patches of chaparral.
"Well on my way home!" groaned Colonel Evans, "and Cal is not with me."
Through all that weary ride Ping and Tah-nu-nu had plodded along cheerfully. They had talked with anybody who wished to have a chat, and had given no token of discontent. They did not look at all like a pair of plotters, but they had conferred much in their own tongue when no Chiricahua was within hearing. They had plenty of opportunities, for those three red-men had undergone a change. Even the story-teller had been moody and silent ever since the great spirit of the Manitou Water.
Although of another band, which had become nominally friendly to the pale-faces, the Chiricahuas were as much Apaches as were the Mescaleros, and had been every way as bitterly opposed to life on any Reservation. Their present friendship was with American blue-coats only, and not with Mexicans, and Kah-go-mish had smitten their old enemies in a way to merit their approbation. All that, and their traditions and superstitions, laid a capital foundation for the Manitou Water to work upon. To their minds they had been notified that it was "bad medicine" for them to do anything against Kah-go-mish upon his present war-path. If they were ever to kill him, it must be at some future time when things were going against him and his medicine was defective.
Stronger and stronger grew the pressure of the vague ideas that took possession of the minds of the three scouts. They even looked hard at the pool of water they now led their horses to, as if this also might present some supernatural tokens. They had been there before, and they now found nothing new, but they felt as if they did, and each in turn remarked, "Bad medicine." Something rippled the water away out in the middle. Perhaps it was a fish, perhaps it was a frog or a snake or a water-rat, or it may be that an old ripple had been tied up at the bottom and had just broke loose and come up for air. Whatever it may have been, the old story-teller winced when he saw it.
"Ugh!" he said. "More manitou. Chiricahua no fight Kah-go-mish. Bad medicine."
None of the white men overheard that remark, and none of them dreamed of watching Chiricahuas after what had occurred at the spring. The feud between the two bands was supposed to be more bitter than ever.
It was decided by Captain Moore that several miles must be added to the day's journey as soon as the horses had fed and were rested, in order that something might be done towards catching up with the possible movements of Kah-go-mish.
Ping and Tah-nu-nu mounted their ponies, but just before they did so the old Chiricahua came and seemed to be spinning to them some of his yarns. It must have had reference to the pool, for he pointed at it, and both of them nodded as if it were an interesting story.
No story of the past had been told, but one of the immediate future had been suggested. In fact, it was all carefully planned out, and all that remained was to act it out, for there was no one there to write it.
The intention of the cavalry and cowboys was to take things easy that afternoon, and they rode on in a long, straggling cavalcade, among groves of trees, reaches of grass, clumps of bushes, and occasional bits of rocky ground, while away to the south were evidently mountains such as Kah-go-mish led his band through after his great feat in the character of a log with a knot on it.
Up to this time Ping and Tah-nu-nu had hardly been separated for a moment, but now he seemed willing to lag towards the rear, talking with the old Chiricahua, while she rode forward with the others, as if she too had become a scout. If any white man had suspected them of a purpose of getting away, the suspicion disappeared when this was seen.
Colonel Evans had no suspicion concerning Tah-nu-nu or the two Chiricahuas, but he almost wanted to put away his thoughts of Cal, and he pushed his big black horse on alongside of her pony. There were flashes in her dark eyes and there were tightenings of her lips, and now and then she glanced right and left half excitedly. She drew her breath very hard and glanced at the Chiricahuas as she and the colonel rode past a rugged patch of craggy forest. His face was as if made of wood, but he said "Ugh!"
The whip in Tah-nu-nu's hand fell sharply upon her pony's flank. It was a blow given in utter vexation, rather than purposely, but the pony sprang forward all the same. So did the big black, and the strong hand of Colonel Evans reined in the pony.
"No, Tah-nu-nu," he said, "you can't get away."
"Ping is the son of a great chief!" she exclaimed, angrily. "Got away! Whoop! Heap good! Tah-nu-nu stay! Die! No pale-face!"
She was intensely excited, her dark, regular features were flushed, and the colonel said to himself that she looked like another girl. All three of the Chiricahuas were with him at that moment. Not one of them took any notice of Tah-nu-nu's utterances, but the colonel straightened in the saddle. "Boys," he shouted to the nearest men behind him, "where's that young 'Pache? Go for him! The girl's been trying to escape!"
Men in blue uniforms and men in red shirts wheeled at once, shouting to others farther in the rear. The whole line wheeled and shouted and searched hither and thither, and not any were more active than were the three Chiricahuas.
It was all in vain. There was not a trace to be found of The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead.
Tah-nu-nu was suffering a terrible disappointment, and so was somebody else. Colonel Evans felt badly enough, but his caprice for a chat with Tah-nu-nu had prevented the superstitious Chiricahuas from entirely avoiding the "bad medicine" of Kah-go-mish. Part of it had been put away when the old story-teller, riding by Ping's side, had remarked, "Ugh! Heap bush." He came out of that bit of chaparral all alone, and, for some reason, Ping knew where he ought to expect a meeting with Tah-nu-nu. He did not at once walk his pony as the rest were doing, but galloped hard for quite a distance. He made a wide circuit in advance and at last dismounted upon the summit of a ledgy hill, among crags and forest trees. Here he could look down and see what occurred, and almost hear what was said as the cavalcade went by.
"Heap rock!" he had exclaimed. "Now Tah-nu-nu come."
Then he saw why she did not, could not come, and his disappointment was as bitter as any human disappointment well could be. A light which had grown in his dark young face faded from it. He hung his head almost listlessly as he wheeled his pony southward. He had escaped and he could not return into captivity, but Tah-nu-nu was still a prisoner. What should he say to Kah-go-mish and Wah-wah-o-be? That is, indeed, if he should succeed in finding his own perilous way to the lodges of his band.
Chapter XXXV.
HAND TO HAND BY FIRELIGHT
Colonel Evans and Captain Moore were vexed more deeply than they could have told by the escape of Ping. How it had been accomplished was a mystery. It was of no use whatever to lay the blame upon the Chiricahuas, or to ask them any questions. Each had been able to render a seemingly good account of himself, and each had taken the occasion to declare his undying enmity to Kah-go-mish and all his band. They did not tell how much better they felt, now that Ping's part of the "bad medicine" which threatened them had galloped away.
As for Tah-nu-nu, she had never before known what it was to feel lonesome. So long as Ping had been in the camp she had been able to keep up her spirits, but now even her pride almost broke down, and if she had not been the daughter of a great chief she could have cried about it all.
One of the two securities for Cal's safe return having disappeared, there was sure to be greater care taken of the other. Sam Herrick had probably never said "Colorado!" more emphatically than he did when he added: "Well, now, I'd like to see that gal git away. She won't!"
Cal should have had still greater security held for him by his friends instead of less, for the events of the previous night had by no means ended when the squaw and pack-mule part of the Apache encampment succeeded in getting out into the open desert.
The Mexican commander had made all his plans with caution as well as with skill, and their nature had been but imperfectly reported to Kah-go-mish. That chief knew that his assailants were drawing near the camp, through the woods, on foot, in three detachments. He knew that each body of soldiers was too strong for him to face, and that all had been cavalry before they dismounted. He was sure, therefore, that away in the rear of all must be a drove of several hundreds of horses. What he did not calculate upon was the strength and vigilance of the detachment left in charge of those horses.
When, therefore, the Apache camp was abandoned, and all its treasures of quadrupeds and stores had been hurried out of harm's way, Kah-go-mish did not go with his family and household goods. He and a score of his best warriors rode away upon an errand worthy of so great a commander. They made a wide circuit, along the edge of the plain, entered the deep forest once more, dismounted, tied their horses, and pushed rapidly forward on foot. They were in the rear of the attacking columns, and were very near to the rear-guard and its drove when the Mexicans dashed in upon the camp.
Creeping from tree to tree, nearer and nearer, the chief and his chosen braves reached the right spot and were entirely ready for the dash which they also had prepared at the moment when they heard the rattling volleys, the shouts, and the bugle-calls.
Small fires had been kindled by the Mexican rear-guard, and there were torches here and there, but these were not enough. The darkness was still sufficient to conceal from the creeping Apaches the fact that the Mexican commander had left a hundred men to guard his precious quadrupeds. He had stationed them well, also, and they were on the alert for Indians.
Loud rang the war-whoops of Kah-go-mish and his daring followers, and their rifles cracked rapidly for a half-minute before they sprang out of their cover. Not many bullets could be expected to reach a human mark by firelight and torchlight. Very few soldiers were touched, but quite a number of horses received wounds which made them give tenfold effect to the panic and fright produced by the yells and rifle-reports. Neighing, kicking, screaming, the entire drove broke loose as the Apaches dashed in among them, and the shadowy woods around were full of trampling hoofs.
As a military manœuvre, the plan of Kah-go-mish had thus far been a complete success, for he wanted only a stampede, and had no idea of capturing any of those horses. There, however, his success ended. The drove was scattered, so that there could be no immediate pursuit of him and his, but the Mexican militia had not been stampeded. They stood their ground like brave fellows, and closed in at once upon the whooping red-men.
Bitter was the wrath of Kah-go-mish, for he found himself outnumbered several times. Half of his own warriors had instantly disappeared among the trees, as was their duty. The other half went down around him, man by man, whooping, firing swift and deadly shots, but well aware that for once their trusted leader had led them into a death-trap.
There came a lurid moment when he stood alone, in front of one of the blazing heaps of light-wood, surrounded on all sides by men who had drawn their sabres because they could not use firearms for fear of hitting one another.
Calm and ringing was the whoop of defiance with which he stood at bay, a revolver in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other.
"Kah-go-mish is a great chief!" he shouted.
Another whoop sprang to his lips, but it was not completed. There were flashes of steel blades in the shadows around him, and he fell heavily upon the grass.
The Mexican commander was as much astonished by the sounds of battle behind him as he had been by the deserted condition of the camp he had intended to surprise. He ordered his three detachments to wheel at once, but they were impeded by the part of the stampeded drove which rushed in their direction. There were shouts and exclamations all along the line as the frightened animals broke through, but the officers held their men well in hand and pushed steadily forward. It was all a riddle until they marched out at the line of corral camp-fires. There were the rear-guard, drawn up in perfect order, except a few who were out in the woods gathering horses, and a few who were wounded, and a few more who would never mount again.
Explanations were promptly made, and the officer commanding the rear-guard was warmly commended.
"The Apache chief fell," he said. "Kah-go-mish."
"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."