Chapter XVIII.
HOW DICK PLAYED SENTINEL
That had been a warm and also a very busy day at Santa Lucia Ranch. It began, like other days, with an early breakfast for all who awoke under the roof of the hacienda, and everybody had conjectures to make, of course, as to the whereabouts and doings of Cal and his father and the Apache-hunting expedition.
Mrs. Evans and Vic did not care for a horseback ride. In fact, Vic said she did not care much for anything. About the middle of the forenoon, however, two hammocks that swung under the awning in front of the veranda became suddenly empty.
There came a great shouting and whip-cracking out upon the prairie. It sounded along the well-marked old wagon-road which came down from the north. Whole army trains had travelled that road from time to time, and now a great tilted wagon, drawn by six mules and followed by four more, came rolling smoothly in the deep old ruts.
There was a cowboy ready to open the gate and let in the wagon. News of its coming was already in the house, and every soul hurried out to welcome it.
"Sure, and it's glad I am that it's come," said Norah McLory. "There wasn't coffee to last the wake, let alone sugar."
The beauty of that wagon was all in its cargo. It belonged to Colonel Evans, and it brought supplies all the way down from Santa Fé. The unloading and investigation of the things under the ample tilt was an affair of fun and excitement and surprises worth a whole week of shopping in the city.
Full orders had been sent by that six-mule express, for such a trip was costly and could not be afforded too frequently; but even Mrs. Evans had not been permitted to examine all the lists of goods before they went, and Vic knew almost nothing about them. It was, therefore, something like a tremendous Christmas morning coming in June.
The groceries, both as to assortment and quantity, delighted the very heart of Norah McLory. There were cloths and clothing for all the needs of Santa Lucia. One whole packing-case was marked as belonging especially to Mrs. Evans, but it might almost as well have been directed to Vic. The next was smaller and had no name upon it, but when it was opened it compelled Vic to exclaim, again and again: "How I do wish Cal were here! What won't he say when he gets home!"
However that might be, Cal heard Ping's arrow whiz past him just a little before Vic laid down his new breech-loading double-barrelled shotgun and began to admire his neckties, his pocket-knife, compass, and a lot of other treasures.
The miscellaneous cargo of the tilted wagon had cost the price obtained for a goodly number of horned cattle. The value of two fine mules had been expended upon another kind of supplies.
There was no post-office at or near Santa Lucia, and letters found their way there as best they might, at long intervals. Newspapers came in like manner, if they came at all, but now the tilt of that wagon had covered a very large amount of news. Some of it was beginning to get a little old in the rest of the world, for there were several files of well-known Eastern weekly journals, three months in length. Illustrated journals were there, and magazines, for young and old. The remainder of those mules had gone for books. One serious element of the loneliness Vic had complained of in her ranch life vanished at once.
"I've loads of good company now," she said, after dinner, as she began at last to swing in one of the hammocks.
A stack of printed matter lay on the ground beside her, and the thin, wide pamphlet in her hand emphasized her declaration: "I always want to see all the pictures first."
Mrs. Evans was in the other hammock. She had finished some letters before dinner, and now she was at work with the newspapers, trying to find out what great things had happened in the world since it had been heard from at Santa Lucia.
The day died slowly away, as it always will in June. The pictures were looked at, the news was read, the books were turned over, and if the day had not been so very warm more might have been done with the other contents of the tilted wagon. Even Norah McLory put away the liberal provision made for her department, and sat down to think of it.
"They'll not milt away," she said, "but that's more'n I can prove about mesilf. Injins is fond of sugar, and there's two barrels of it here now. Oh, the villains."
Vic stood out beyond the awning and watched the sun go down over the cloudlike tops of the western mountains.
"What are you thinking of, Vic?" asked her mother, from under the awning.
"Why, mother, Cal and father are somewhere away out there. They're pretty near the Sierra, maybe. I was wondering in what sort of a camp Cal had eaten his supper."
Cal was not in any camp, and he had not eaten any supper. He did not ride Dick uselessly the remainder of that hot afternoon. At first he took long rests, and then he dismounted altogether and walked. The red mustang needed no leading, but seemed to feel better when his human company was close beside him, with a hand upon the bridle. He was evidently suffering from thirst rather than from fatigue, and so was his master. Every now and then any path they happened to be in led out into barren reaches of sand and gravel, on any side of which they were at liberty to choose among several avenues, and this was one of the treacherous puzzles of the chaparral. Cal did not know that the red men who had threaded that maze before him had left marks of their own upon the trunks of the mesquit scrubs. He could not have read, if he had known, for he was worse off than a foreigner in a strange, great city.
Twice he saw a wolf go trotting across the vista ahead of him, and once a gang of antelopes dashed away as he came in sight. Somewhere in that terrible tangle there must be human beings, red and white, he knew, and he would almost have welcomed the sight of an Indian when he saw the sun go down.
The moon did not rise, at once, and it was very dark and gloomy, as well as oppressively warm, in the chaparral. Heat came up from the sun-baked sand, and more heat seemed to creep out from among the bushes.
It was a time for Cal to look away down inside of himself and to call out all the courage there was in him.
"I can stand it another day, I know I can," he said to himself, "and I've got it to do. I won't wear out Dick. We must rest all night. It won't be a long night. Soon as it's light we must be moving. It'll be cooler then."
The spot that was somehow selected for his lonely bivouac was near the point where two broad paths crossed each other. Cal could not guess where they came from nor where they went to, nor which of them it would be best for him to travel by in the morning.
He fastened Dick's lariat to a bush, but there was no grass for the faithful mustang to pick upon. He stood in the path a very picture of patience, except that now and then he expressed a little thirsty discontent by a dejected pawing of the hot sand.
Cal had a blanket strapped behind the saddle, and he now spread it and lay down. He even went to sleep, and how long he had slumbered he did not know, when he was awakened by Dick's face close to his own, and a whimpering, low neigh. The red mustang was acting as a sentinel, and had heard something.
"What is it, Dick?" asked Cal, as he sprang to his feet, but the answer came in an unexpected manner.
There was a tramping sound along the other path, and then Cal heard voices. The moon was up, now, and its light fell upon what seemed an endless procession of horses and mules. There were mounted men among them, and Cal knew who they were.
"That's so," he muttered. "Those are the very Apaches we are after. Where can they be going at this time of night?"
Chapter XIX.
BAD NEWS FOR WAH-WAH-O-BE
Kah-go-mish was an Apache, but he was also a father. He lay in his rabbit-path, under the bushes, and saw the surrender of his children. Up he came upon all fours, glaring ferociously upon their captors. For a moment his whole body seemed to swell and quiver with wrath. Then he lay down again, and he even smiled with pride over the excellent behavior of Ping and Tah-nu-nu.
Sam Herrick held out his hand to The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead with a very friendly "How!"
"Ugh! Cowboy!" said Ping. "How!"
Tah-nu-nu, on the other hand, remained primly silent, and did not reply in any manner when one after the other of the pale-face braves around her asked what her name was and where she came from and where she was going.
Ping was first questioned in English, but all of that tongue that he had picked up upon the Reservation seemed to have gone from him. Then Colonel Evans tried him in Spanish, and he looked as if he had never in all his life heard a Mexican speak, for the substance of the inquiry in both languages was, "Where is Kah-go-mish? Where is your band?"
Tah-nu-nu said something to him in Apache at that moment, and a Chiricahua, whom she had not seen, standing behind her, interpreted it to Colonel Evans.
"That's it, is it?" exclaimed Cal's father. "She says that they mustn't let us know that the band is in the chaparral. Now I know better what to do."
The glances bestowed upon the Chiricahua by Ping and Tah-nu-nu were not arrows, or they would have killed him.
"Boys," said the colonel, "treat them first-rate, but they mustn't get away. Now let's go after Cal."
Kah-go-mish saw his children supplied with water, fed well, laughed with, questioned, every way well-treated, and then he saw them mounted upon fresh ponies.
"Ugh!" he muttered. "Pale-face chief heap big man. Got heart. Good. No hurt him. Kill Mexican. No kill cowboy."
He lingered a little longer, for he wondered what those pale-faces were up to. They rode away in squads, by different paths, and at regular intervals he heard them blowing tremendously upon their bugles. They fired shots, too, now and then, and the sounds receded farther and farther into the chaparral. It was altogether a very remarkable proceeding, such as the chief had never before heard of. He said to himself that there must be some kind of "medicine" in it. He had no fear of any bodily harm to his children, but their capture by the cowboys had suddenly put a new element into all the plans he had made. He still had the Santa Lucia horses, but the men from that ranch and its vicinity had Ping and Tah-nu-nu.
Kah-go-mish did not go out to examine a lot of miscellaneous camp-property left lying around loose near the spring. He did not wish to share the fate he had meted out to the imprudent Chiricahua scout. He suspected that a squad of cowboys, guarding the extra horses, was lurking near by, under cover of the bushes, and that their rifles protected the coffee-pots and kettles. He had, also, a pretty clear idea that all the cowboys would soon return, and probably the blue-coats also, but he believed himself rid of Colonel Romero's Mexicans. "Ugh!" he exclaimed, at last. "Kah-go-mish is a great chief. Know what do, if know where Mexicans gone."
Back he crept through the bushes until he deemed it safe for him to stand erect, and then he went farther at a rapid rate, considering the heat of the weather. He was bent upon an important purpose that called for all sorts of activity.
"Where Mexicans gone?" was a question over which there had been several badly puzzled arguments already.
Colonel Romero had led his men away along the trail so carefully prepared for him by the Apaches. He had had no suspicion that the trampled sand, so well marked by dragged lodge-poles, was all a trap. His best scouts had fallen into it completely, and the whole command had been entirely satisfied until they came to the patch of gravel where the trail vanished. Even after that they pushed along until they came out at the southwestern border of the chaparral. This was precisely what Kah-go-mish had hoped they would do, and right before them lay the other part of his cunningly set trap. It was an ancient trail, which was well known by Colonel Romero and by some of his more experienced Indian-fighters. It led deeper into their own country, and it also led to good grass and water, to be reached by riding on until dark.
A brief council was held, but the arguments seemed to be nearly all upon one side. It was set forth that the Apaches must have taken that road because they could not remain in the chaparral to die of thirst and hunger or to be struck by the American cavalry and the cowboys. The Mexican horses and men must have water, and so they must go forward, and that was their only road. As to their train of pack-mules and spare horses, it was safe, they said. It would reach Cold Spring, and would find the Americans there. It would get directions from them, and could not lose its way.
All the remaining Mexican bugles sounded the advance, and the command moved away along the trail. A solitary Apache boy, a head taller than Ping, lurking near among some very thick bushes, saw them go. As soon as they were well away he was on the back of his pony, at full gallop, and evidently was in no doubt whatever as to the right path for him to take. He reached the camp of his people just in time to report to the returning Kah-go-mish that the trap set for the Mexicans had been a complete success.
The chief had sent away that part of his many perils, but he had rapid orders to give now. He had also a very difficult report to make to Wah-wah-o-be, and she listened to most of it with her blanket over her head.
Kah-go-mish told her how well Ping and Tah-nu-nu had been treated, but she was inconsolable at first.
The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead, the young chief who had killed a cougar, and who was yet to surpass the fame of his great father, was a prisoner in the hands of the wicked pale-faces. So was the beautiful Tah-nu-nu, the most promising young squaw of the entire Apache nation. Wah-wah-o-be fully appreciated her children. She knew all their good qualities, and she mentioned most of them then and there. What if both Ping and his sister were to be carried away to some distant place among the great lodges and the terrible magicians of the pale-faces, and compelled to become themselves pale-faces? To be turned into something different from their noble father and mother? Such things had been done, and she had heard of them.
The light of her life seemed to have departed, and Wah-wah-o-be cared very little what further disasters might now come to her. She even valued all the horses of the band at only a fraction of what they had seemed to be worth that morning.
The blanket came down at last, for Kah-go-mish had given all his directions to his warriors, and there was work proposed which seemed to stir them to a high pitch of enthusiasm. Wah-wah-o-be had her duties also to attend to, and she knew that they must all get out of the chaparral. She saw her heroic husband ride away, followed by nearly all the best braves of the band. Then she and all who were left had some rapid packing to do, that every mule and pony might be ready for a sudden start whenever the war-party should return. It was understood that Kah-go-mish had outwitted the Mexicans, the blue-coats, and the cowboys, and that he was about to do something very remarkable. What, thought Wah-wah-o-be, if he should also succeed in winning back Ping and Tah-nu-nu?
He did not seem to go after them at once. He led his warriors, as nearly directly as the crooked paths permitted, to the very trail by which they had entered the chaparral. It was an especially wide and well-marked north-and-south path to Cold Spring for anybody coming from Mexico. Half a mile or more from the spring, among the bushes along the trail, Kah-go-mish carefully hid his dismounted warriors. All their horses were well away behind them, and they themselves seemed to be an exceedingly cheerful, hopeful, and self-satisfied lot of red men. If there was one thing more than another that was exactly suited to them, it was an ambush with a dead certainty of surprising somebody.
Chapter XX.
HOW CAL STARTED FOR MEXICO
Wah-wah-o-be and Kah-go-mish had an advantage over Colonel Evans, for they knew what had become of Ping and Tah-nu-nu while his uncertainty about Cal grew darker and darker. He and the cowboys faithfully and warily threaded the part of the chaparral through which they had marched in the earlier hours of that eventful day. The buglers blew regularly, taking care not to get out of hearing of each other, but the firing ceased after it was discovered that a clear bugle-note could be heard farther than could the report of a gun.
As Ping and Tah-nu-nu rode slowly along, they began to comprehend the remarkable proceedings which had so completely puzzled their father, lying under the bushes. Each had one arm connected by a lariat with the arm of a cowboy, but they were not far from one another. They asked no questions and had refused to answer any, but they now and then exchanged a few words in their own tongue when the Chiricahuas were out of hearing.
On went the fruitless search, and at last the two young Apaches were led to a place where two paths ran into one. They knew the spot, for Ping had lost an arrow there. He remembered, too, how he had lost it, and so he said nothing, but Tah-nu-nu had nothing upon her conscience, and she turned to her brother to say, "Ugh! Heap pony!"
"Ah ha! You saw him, did you?" said the sharp-eyed cowboy she was tied to, and he at once shouted to Colonel Evans, who was riding a little ahead of them.
"What is it, Bill?"
"Why, colonel, these two young redskins saw him pass, right here. The gal let it out and the boy doesn't deny it."
The secret was out. Ping himself gave up and was willing to use any English or Spanish words he knew in telling that he had seen "Heap red pony" gallop away by the path which led to the right.
"That's the red mustang," said the colonel, sadly. "Cal's away beyond the spring, long ago. No use to hunt hereaway any more. Call in the boys. We must try the western chaparral. Maybe he will fall in with the cavalry."
He did not say why he shuddered, but the thought he did not utter put the Apaches in place of the cavalry. Hot, weary, and disappointed, he rode back to the spring and there were Captain Moore and his tired-out veterans. They had ridden far enough to satisfy themselves that the Apaches had not at once returned to the United States, and they had neither a right nor a wish to follow any trail into Mexico.
"Captain," said Colonel Evans, "I wish we were on good terms with the Mescaleros. They'd be worth all the white men to hunt for Cal."
"Tell you what I believe, though," said Sam Herrick, "them 'Paches didn't go out of this 'ere chaparral. We're bound to hear from 'em again. I've heard of Kah-go-mish before."
At the mention of the chief's name Tah-nu-nu looked at her brother, for he was straightening up proudly.
"Kah-go-mish great chief! Ugh!" he said, with great emphasis, and then his vanity got the better of him, for he patted himself upon the breast, adding all the Apache syllables of "The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead" and ended with "Son of Kah-go-mish."
He did not feel called upon to say that Tah-nu-nu was a daughter, but her face told enough.
"That's it," exclaimed Sam Herrick. "We've caught exactly the right ones. I wish their dad knew we had 'em. Just as I said, though, we're bound to hear more from Kah-go-mish."
So they did, but in a somewhat unexpected manner. Away out near the southern border of the chaparral a string of pack-mules and led horses came plodding lazily along, late that afternoon, guided by a dozen rancheros. They were in no danger, for their own cavalry had swept the way before them. They were in no hurry, for they were mentally sure of encamping at Cold Spring and of meeting Colonel Romero there. The trail before them was abundantly plain. No quadruped would or could wander from the train, and two of the rancheros rode ahead, more were scattered in the middle, and a pair who seemed almost asleep brought up the rear.
A more helpless military procession never marched anywhere.
The two rancheros in front and the pair in the rear suddenly waked up to find themselves accompanied by a dozen or more of Indian warriors, all apparently in a friendly and agreeable frame of mind. Not a whoop was uttered, not a shot was fired, and it almost looked as if no harm were intended. The forward rancheros were greeted by a tall chief in a cocked hat, with red stocking-legs upon his arms. It was a striking uniform for even an Apache commanding officer.
"How!" he said, as he held out his hand. "Kah-go-mish is a great chief. Mexican good fellow. Bring heap pony, heap mule, heap plunder. Give all to poor Indian. Ugh!"
The warriors at the rear smiled and said, "How," but then they took away the lances and other weapons of the train-guards, as fast as they could get at them. Resistance was out of the question, of course, and Kah-go-mish had good reasons for not wishing any bloodshed. It might have interfered with his wonderful plan.
The entire train was quickly under the care of the Mescaleros, and every animal in it was turned around, with his head in a southerly direction. The unlucky rancheros were collected, on foot, in the very path they had expected to follow on horseback. They were then addressed, in tolerably good Mexican Spanish, by the chief himself. He told them how great a man he was, and gave them a vivid picture, a series of animal and insect illustrations, of his opinion of all pale-faces, all Mexicans, and all Chiricahuas. He told them they would find some blue-coats at the spring, and some Gringo cowboys. The chief of the Gringos was a great man. He had given some horses to the great chief Kah-go-mish. All of those horses were to be given back to him, but the chief could not bring them now. There were too many bad blue-coats in the chaparral. The great chief had given his two children in exchange for the horses, and wanted to trade back again. He would do so, but not now. He was on his way to Mexico, to carry back the pack-mules and horses he had just received from the rancheros. The Mexicans might want them. He hoped the rancheros would succeed in catching up with the cavalry. They all looked like good runners.
It was a great speech, and much of it was cheerfully satirical. Part of it meant that Kah-go-mish knew very well that Captain Moore and Colonel Evans would deem it their duty to rescue the pack-train if an opportunity were given them, and that he must get as far away as he could before the news of his exploit reached them.
It was only an hour before sunset when the plundered rancheros were set free to find their way to Cold Spring, for they had not so very far to go, and Kah-go-mish was cautious. As soon as they were out of sight he and his warriors and their prize were in motion. It was very needful that they should reach grass and water before morning.
So far the deep plan of the Indian leader had worked remarkably well, even the changes called for by the capture of Ping and Tah-nu-nu being as yet in the future. This first success had been indicated by Colonel Romero himself, when he told Captain Moore about the pack-train. The old sage-hen had been listening at the same time, but she had not profited to any known extent. She lacked the ears and the genius of Kah-go-mish, and perhaps she was not at war with Mexico.
In due season, among the webby paths of the chaparral, the two sections of the Apache band came together. Cold Spring, the blue-coats, and the cowboys were far away; the Mexican cavalry were farther; it was entirely safe for everybody to whoop, and whoop they did. Once more had the chief they were all proud of proved himself one of the greatest men of the Apache nation.
Wah-wah-o-be had even a more hopeful feeling concerning Ping and Tah-nu-nu when she saw the Mexican pack-mules and the long string of horses, but she and all the rest were quickly in motion, for they knew that ten miles of desert lay between them and the nearest grass and water to the southward. More than one path led from the camping-place to the edge of the chaparral, and the Apaches used several in order to get out quickly. Suddenly, as they pressed forward, a loud whoop of exultation that arose upon one of those lanes was heard by the red wayfarers in all the others. It sounded about two minutes after the red mustang sentinel awoke his master.
Cal Evans, weary, thirsty, astonished, and wondering what might be best for him to do, stood in the shadows, watching the wonderful moonlight procession. There was not anything left for him to do. Another part of the procession came trampling along behind him, and a loud neigh from Dick told him that it was coming. His heart beat very hard for a moment, and then the whoop of triumph which went to the ears of Kah-go-mish and the rest of the band announced that Cal and the red mustang were prisoners of the Mescalero Apaches.