Chapter XXI.
THE MANITOU OF COLD SPRING
"Sorry about Cal," said Captain Moore, after he and Colonel Evans had exchanged reports. "We must all get out early in the morning and scour the western chaparral. We shall find him."
It was getting too late for any more searching that day. The shadows were lengthening in the chaparral. Besides, both men and animals were in need of rest.
Every cowboy and cavalryman felt and spoke strongly about Cal, but the best that could be obtained from a Chiricahua was, "Ugh! 'Pache get boy."
That was an idea in other minds, for even Ping told Tah-nu-nu: "Heap pony find Kah-go-mish."
"Kah-go-mish no kill," she said.
Ping was all but dreaming of the red mustang. Never before had he looked upon an animal which so fully came up to his idea of what a horse should be. That is, a horse for a young Apache of about his size, and the son of a great chief.
Tah-nu-nu was not thinking of horses. She and her brother had been kindly treated. It was plain that they were not to be cruelly killed; at least not right away, for they had been fed abundantly. They were now provided with blankets, and the white chief of the cowboys even went further. He was an old Indian trader, and he had not gone out upon such an expedition unprepared to negotiate as well as to fight. The first essential of any talk with red men is presents, and there were curious things in a pack carried by one of the mules. From this collection Cal's father now selected two little round mirrors, set in white metal, as pretty as silver, and two startling red-white-and-blue yard-wide handkerchiefs. The mirrors he hung around the necks of his captives, and they puzzled themselves for half an hour over what they should do with the brilliant pieces of cotton cloth. Tah-nu-nu found out, for she tied hers around her head, and Ping followed her example.
They had been allowed to sit down by the spring, closely watched and guarded by one of the Chiricahuas. They proudly refused to speak a word to him, although Ping's pride was gratified now with any talk offered him by the mighty blue-coats or the cowboy warriors of the pale-faces.
The Chiricahua, however, was quite an old man, and he managed to break through the barrier of Ping's reserve.
"Ugh!" he said, pointing to the surveyor's chisel-marks upon the face of the rock before them, which told of the boundary line between the two republics. "Bad medicine. Drive away Apache manitou."
Wah-wah-o-be herself could not have more cunningly stirred a chord of Indian curiosity. Tah-nu-nu was a young squaw, and remained silent, as became her, but she stared at the tokens of pale-face magic. Ping did the same for a moment.
"Ugh!" he said. "Bad medicine for Mescalero. Good for Chiricahua."
"No, no good," said the old man, with strong emphasis, pointing to some dark-red stains upon the rock. "Chiricahua die there. Heap fool. Not watch for bad manitou."
"Ugh!" replied Ping, and then for the first time he learned of the deed his father had done there that very morning.
"Kah-go-mish is a great chief!" he said, swelling with pride, but the old Chiricahua shook his head.
"Chief heap fool," he said. "Kill Indian. Get kill himself some day."
He had more to say about the spring. It had once been good medicine for all Indians, especially for all the branches of the great Apache nation. The Mexicans, whom he described in terms as picturesque as those employed by Kah-go-mish, had come first. They had drunk of the spring, but their medicine had been weak and had failed. The manitou of the Apaches had not been driven away. Long afterwards had come the Northern pale-faces, among whom were men with red beards, like that of Captain Moore, and whose warriors wore blue coats. They had great guns, and their medicine was powerful. They had forced the Mexicans to divide the spring with them, and had cut a mark in the rock, so that the manitou of the Apaches could not stay there.
"Ever since that time," said the old Chiricahua, "the Apache bands could visit the spring and drink, but it was not well for them to camp there. They were safer anywhere out in the chaparral."
He had evidently taken a deep interest in his own narration, and had been listened to attentively by Ping and Tah-nu-nu. They had believed every word, and wanted to hear more, although the darkness was beginning to settle over the camp, and all the sentries and pickets had been posted, but just at this moment a shout was heard, and then another, among the southerly bushes.
There were sharp questions and answers in Spanish and English, while all the men in camp sprang to their feet. So did the old Chiricahua and Ping and Tah-nu-nu, and in a moment more they saw a dozen unarmed men, on foot, file dejectedly out into the light of the camp-fires.
They were the rancheros who had been in charge of the Mexican spare horses and pack-mules.
Captain Moore, his officers, Colonel Evans, and several cowboys listened to the remarkable story, helped out as it was by many questions.
"Good thing we caught those youngsters," said Captain Moore. "You did well not to fight, and you are lucky to have been allowed to keep your scalps. We'll take care of you till morning."
He gave orders about that, and then he turned to Colonel Evans.
"No need for you to hunt for your horses any farther," he said. "They are somewhere in Mexico. You may get back most of them, I think, for Kah-go-mish has about as many as he knows what to do with."
"Horses!" exclaimed Colonel Evans. "I'm not thinking about horses."
"Cal is not in their hands," said the captain. "We must hunt for him. I think, too, that we shall find him. It is not my duty to cross the boundary line after Colonel Romero's lost mules."
"Of course not. Nor for mine either. Kah-go-mish is evidently not the kind of red-skin to be easily caught by anybody."
"Perfect old fox!" said the captain, with strong emphasis. "But then he has the boundary line to help him."
It was a curious fact, but the three Chiricahua scouts considered themselves entirely at liberty to feel elated at the victory obtained by Apaches of another band over the traditional Mexican enemies of their race.
"Ugh!" said the old brave to Ping and Tah-nu-nu. "The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead is the son of a great chief."
Chapter XXII.
ACROSS THE DESERT BY NIGHT
The evening which passed under such remarkable circumstances in the neighborhood of Cold Spring was uncommonly long and busy at the Santa Lucia ranch.
Tallow was abundant where so many cattle were raised and slaughtered every season, and Mrs. Evans prided herself upon her skill in the manufacture of candles. Whatever other comforts of life in the settlements were lacking in the old hacienda, there was always plenty of illumination after nightfall. There was usually but a short time for candle-light in June, for people who arose so soon after daylight were accustomed to go to bed early. On this particular evening, however, the parlor wore a very brilliant appearance for two hours longer than ordinary.
The first look at the precious things brought by the tilted wagon had been only a look, and every article had to undergo another inspection.
All were dropped at last, or, rather, there they lay, except such things as were under Norah McLory's care, all scattered around the room.
"I can't help it," said Mrs. Evans; "I feel uneasy about Cal."
"So do I, mother," said Vic, leaning back, upon the sofa; "but you never said as much before."
"Somehow I didn't feel so, Vic; but it seems to me – Well, I do wish he could be here, looking over his new books, instead of away out there."
"We sha'n't hear from him for ever so long," said Vic. "All sorts of things might happen and we not know it."
Somehow or other, as the talk drifted on, the varied assortment with which the floor and chairs were littered lost its charm. Mrs. Evans even got to telling stories of other times when her husband had been away from her. She had more than once been compelled to wait long for news of him, and had heard tidings of danger before anything better came. He had fought his way out of perilous circumstances, and her eyes kindled, now and then, as she related how. Wah-wah-o-be herself was not prouder of the deeds of Kah-go-mish.
Vic listened, but her imagination was a little out of joint, for she found herself unconsciously putting Cal in his father's place. She knew very well that he could not pick up one Indian and knock over another with him, as Colonel Abe Evans had done upon an occasion described by her mother. She had altogether more confidence in the heels of the red mustang, and she said so.
"I hope he will bring Dick back safe and sound," she said. "He's almost one of the family."
"Cal would be dreadfully sorry to lose him," said Mrs. Evans. "Come, Vic, I don't want to talk any more."
Neither of them was in good condition for going to sleep, nevertheless, and it may be that their eyes were hardly closed when those of Cal were opened at the summons of Dick to watch the moonlight procession in the chaparral.
The warrior who first laid a hand upon the rein of the red mustang did so with a loud whoop. Cal summoned all his presence of mind and held out his right hand.
"How," he said, "good friend."
"Ugh!" responded the savage. "Heap boy."
No violence was offered, for none seemed to be called for, and it is a mistake to suppose that all the instincts and customs of the red men are in favor of slaughter. Just now, moreover, the clansmen of Kah-go-mish were under orders of mercy, and Cal was led on at once to the presence of the chief. Dick was led with him, and the two friends stood side by side in front of the distinguished Mescalero. He had kept on his cocked hat, and Cal thought he had never before seen so remarkable a figure, especially by moonlight.
One of Cal's accomplishments, a matter of course to a boy with Mexican servants in his own house, was a good acquaintance with Spanish, and it helped out the chief's English in the questions and answers which followed.
Great was the delight of Kah-go-mish. He and the cowboy commander were now even. Each had a son of the other as a sort of security, and all the horses gathered upon Slater's Branch seemed more likely to remain Apache property.
The bugling and random firing among the bushes that day was all explained now, and the great plan of Kah-go-mish looked very well indeed. It was needful, however, to put a goodly distance between him and the blue-coats, for whose conduct he had no security whatever.
Cal's weapons were taken from him, and he was ordered to mount and ride. He at once explained that neither he nor Dick had tasted water since morning, that the red mustang was worth several common horses, and that he must now be too tired to carry a rider. As for himself, he had slept, was rested, and was ready to travel.
Water was scarce in the band of Kah-go-mish at that time, but several gourds half full were obtained by the chief. He proposed to treat his prisoner pretty well, and was willing to save so very good a pony.
Cal could hardly swallow when the water was brought to him. Not only his mouth was parched and his throat husky, but his very heart was sick.
He had heard of the terrific things done by Apaches to their prisoners, and he had no confidence at all in the present appearance of good-will. He had not been told of Ping and Tah-nu-nu in his own camp, or he might have felt better. As it was, he drank a little, and then turned his attention to the red mustang. Only a small part of what Dick was ready for could be given him, and he was glad enough when his downcast master divided water-rations with him. He felt better, and whinnied eagerly for more. He pawed the ground and looked around to see if anything like grass or corn was also forthcoming. Nothing of the kind came, but a Mexican pony was led up, Cal's saddle and bridle were transferred to him, and Dick was hitched to a long lariat by which several other quadrupeds were being led. The last he saw of Cal that night was when the latter rode forward, side by side with a very lean-looking brave who carried a long lance, and who had warned Cal that it would be used at once upon any attempt to escape. Before long the entire cavalcade was out of the chaparral, and Cal noted that the north star was directly behind him.
"Down into Mexico," he said to himself. "It will be long enough before I see Santa Lucia again."
It was cooler travelling by night than by day, but the hard-baked soil sent up an uncomfortable amount of heat, and it was only now and then that even a cactus or a sage-bush was seen along the dreary way. One of the captured Mexican horses gave out and was left for the buzzards. An hour later an old pony which had travelled all the way from the Mescalero Reservation was unable to go any farther, and he too lay down.
Cal thought of Dick, and Dick may have been, thinking of him, but the red mustang was really in need of nothing but grass and water. He had no idea whatever of giving up, and there were no mules tied to his lariat to worry him.
Another hour went by, and the alkaline sand and gravel of the desert became strewn with rocks, among which the long cavalcade slowly wound its way. There was no straggling, for even the animals seemed anxious to get out of that gloomy region. The moon was low towards the horizon, when it suddenly occurred to Cal that during ten or fifteen minutes he had seen a greater number of scrubby bushes.
"More chaparral coming?" he thought. "Hope there's a spring in it, somewhere. Never was so awfully thirsty in all my life."
He could hardly have said as much aloud, for his voice seemed to have dried up. He was hungry, too, for he had not been able to eat much of the bit of cold, half-cooked beef brought to him by Wah-wah-o-be before the train left the Cold Spring chaparral.
Trees! Yes, right and left of them, and they were a pleasant sight to see. How could the red men have found any place in particular, by night, across that trackless plain?
They could not, and they had not, for it had been no part of the plan of Kah-go-mish to leave a trail behind him, or to travel by any old road.
Grass? There was almost a thrill at Cal's heart. A temporary halt was making, and he saw a pony nibble something at the wayside. It must be that the southern edge of the desert had been reached at last.
The halt had been made for purposes of exploration. Trees and grass in that region were unmistakable signs of water, under the ground or above it. Cal sat still upon the pony and the warrior at his side was as motionless as a statue. All around them was deep and sombre shadow, but the air was cooler, and a breeze began to come out of the darkness before them.
Minutes passed, and then a clear, twice-repeated whoop came to their ears.
"Ugh!" said the lean Apache, with evident satisfaction. "Heap water. Boy drink plenty now. Sun come, tie up boy and make fire on him. How boy like fire? Ugh!"
Cal could make no reply whatever, except by a shudder, and they once more rode forward.
Chapter XXIII.
AT THE RANCH AND IN THE CHAPARRAL
There was a very excellent reason why the old Spanish-Mexican settler had chosen that exact spot for the Santa Lucia ranch. It was the little spring which bubbled up in the middle of the courtyard around three sides of which the adobe was constructed. It had been dug out to a depth of several feet and walled in. It had never been known to fail, and it always had enough water left, after supplying the household, to furnish a tiny rill which ran away at one side of the gate in the palisades of the fourth side. This rill was planked over until it got away from the ranch, but it ran out into the sunshine then, and travelled gayly on to the corral. Here it found a number of acres of land, surrounded by a strong wire fence. It also found a long hollow to fill up with water, so that cattle and horses corralled there had plenty to drink. Except in the winter and spring there was little ever heard of that rill beyond the corral, and, if shrubbery had at any time grown upon its margin, it had long since been browsed away, for there was none there now.
Beyond the corral were great reaches of maize, and there had this year been no drought to hurt it. A wide patch of potatoes and some oats seemed to be the only other attempt at anything more than cattle-farming, and things generally had the bare, camplike look common to New Mexican ranches.
Shortly after breakfast, on the morning after the arrival of the tilted wagon, Mrs. Evans and Vic walked out on what appeared to be a tour of inspection. They had not slept well, and there was just a little touch of feverishness in the way they talked about Cal and his father, but they were trying hard to be cheerful.
"No, Vic," said Mrs. Evans, "it won't pay to put in any of the seeds now, but I'm glad they've come, and I don't believe they will spoil. The grape-roots and cuttings won't get here till autumn, but we'll have the vineyard planted over there."
"Is there really to be a barn, mother?" asked Vic, doubtfully, as if such an ornament as that were almost out of the question.
"Yes, my dear. Your father loses stock enough, every year, to pay for more shelter, and for keeping hay, and for all sorts of improvements."
"To think of a vineyard and grapes!"
"And fruit-trees, Vic. The brook is to be fenced in up to the corral and lined with trees. It won't dry up so easily when it's shaded, and the corral is to be a little farther away. It all costs money, though. So does fencing."
They were dreaming dreams of the future and of what could be done to turn Santa Lucia into a sort of New Mexican Eden. The stockade itself was to be clambered over by vines, and so was the veranda, and trees were to be coaxed to grow in all directions. Bushes and plants that could stand the summer heats were to be planted all around the ranch. The old adobe itself was to be fixed up. It was a very pleasant way of spending a morning, but it had its unpleasant thought.
"Vic," said her mother, "there are a great many things that your father can't afford to do, if he is to lose all those horses."
"He has plenty left, and the cattle."
"Yes, but the Indians took away some of his best stock."
"The Indians wouldn't be so likely to come," said Vic, "if everything looked more settled."
It seemed so, and there was truth in it, only the whole truth required more houses near by, and more men to defend them.
As the talk turned towards the Apaches and their deeds, the dream of vines and shrubbery and flowers, of barns and stables, dairy, trees, and all faded away, and they walked back into the house, wondering anxiously what would be the next news from those who had gone in search of the stolen horses and the Apache horse-thieves.
Mrs. Evans and Vic were not one bit more completely in the dark, that morning, than were Colonel Romero and his lancers and his rancheros. They had succeeded, the day before, in following the ancient trail until it brought them to grass and water and a good camping-ground. It had not shown them, however, one track or trace which seemed to have been made in modern times. If Kah-go-mish and his band had come that way, they had managed to conceal the fact remarkably well. Once more it was easy for the brave colonel and his officers to see their duty without any argument. They could not go any farther, if they would, until the arrival of the pack-mules and the lead horses. They could not go in any direction until they knew which way the Apaches had gone. Therefore they must rest in that camp, and send out scouts and trailers, and wait for the loads of supplies and for information. Their puzzle was ended for that day, at least, and there were trees in abundance to lie down under and take it easy.
The men in the bivouac, at Cold Spring, were astir as soon as the daylight began to come the next morning. Colonel Evans was the first man upon his feet.
"I'll find him," he said, "if I have to search the chaparral inch by inch. Poor boy! What a day and night he must have had! No food, no water, no hope! Lost in the chaparral!"
It was a dreadful thing to think of, and the next worst idea was that he might have been killed by the Apaches. Everybody in camp took a deep interest in the proposed search, and all who were to join in it were willing to set out before the heat of the day should come. Captain Moore had a number of cautious things to say about the danger from Indians and ambuscades, but he evidently believed, after all, that Kah-go-mish had gone away.
"He won't run any useless risk of losing horses," said the captain. "I think, on the whole, we can search away."
The Mexicans who had been in charge of the lost pack-train ate their breakfasts in a hurry. The day's journey before them seemed dismal enough, for they were to cross the desert on foot to report the work of Kah-go-mish. They were given a supply of provisions, but there were no horses or arms for them.
"You won't meet any red-skins," said Sam Herrick to a very melancholy ranchero. "They've all gone the other way. You can make better time on foot than you could a-driving a pack-mule. You'll git thar. Give the colonel my compliments and tell him that old Kah-go-mish ort to just love him. I never heard of a train given away for nothing before."
The ranchero nodded a sullen agreement with Sam, but he was not likely to give the message accurately to Colonel Romero.
The poor fellows started at once, with a plain enough trail to follow, and Sam looked kindly after them.
"They're in luck," he said. "They've nothing to do but to walk. Not even a mule to lead or a fence to climb. Colorado! But didn't old Kah-go-mish make a clean sweep."
"Left their skelps on 'em," said Bill.
"That was just cunning," replied Sam. "Some redskins haven't sense enough to let a skelp alone, but he has."
Only a little later the sentries and pickets posted by Captain Moore were all the human beings left in the camp at Cold Spring. They, too, were hidden among the bushes, and the proof that it was a camp at all consisted of three sacks of corn, a saddle, some camp-kettles and coffee-pots, and the smouldering camp-fires.
The bugles began to send their music out over the spider-web wilderness of the chaparral west of the spring, and Captain Moore declared, hopefully, that if Cal were anywhere in all that range he would be sure of hearing music before noon.
The trouble was that he was so many long, tiresome miles beyond the reach of the loudest bugle, and that he had heard music of an altogether different sort before the very earliest riser among them had opened his eyes.