Chapter XIII
TWO WAR-PARTIES
That was a time of uncommon interest and excitement to the entire Nez Percé hunting village. They had plenty to eat and to drink, and some of them had received presents, and the prospect ahead seemed to brighten a little. By nightfall all the warriors were returned from accompanying the mining party, and it was a time for a grand smoke. Some of them had begged Yellow Pine for "fire-water," but not a drop had been obtained. Instead of it they had been informed,
"We're not jest that kind of white men. There isn't a pint of tangle-foot in this 'ere outfit. Ef I want to murder a feller I'll take a rifle to him and do the job clean. I won't go around the bush and massacre him with a whiskey-jug."
The red men understood perfectly well that there was no "fire-water," but that was all they gathered. Plenty of smoking tobacco they did obtain, and it was a grand addition to the dignity of their "council," if every half-naked brave with a pipe in his mouth had a right to consider himself a councillor. They all smoked, and they all wondered what it was best to do next, and they all said so, and every brave among them regretted that it was out of the question for them to acquire possession of the quadrupeds ridden and driven by Judge Parks and his men. The Big Tongue and a few of the younger braves even went so far as to "talk war," but the wiser heads merely grunted at the suggestions volunteered. The Big Tongue had much to say to the smokers nearest him concerning a pale-face warrior whose scalp was among his own treasures. Ha-ha-pah-no was not there to make any sly remarks as to how he actually obtained such a trophy as that and some others on which his reputation as a warrior mainly rested. They sat up until they had smoked all the wisdom out of several pipes of tobacco to each warrior, but did not seem to be any nearer a conclusion. The camp was under the special charge of One-eye, but that dog was becoming quiet and solemn. His especial master had departed, he knew not whither. All the bones in camp now belonged to him, and he had no time to bury so much as one of them. He was not fond of tobacco, and as soon as the smoking began he walked out of camp to patrol the edge of the woods and to keep all the eye left him on duty against possible intruders. He had no faith in a country which was evidently infested by pale-faces.
If he had known more about that valley and the region into which it led, he would have had an even worse opinion of it. The fact that it contained a large stream of water had already suggested many things to the experienced mind of Long Bear. All such water, he well knew, kept on running, no matter what might be its crooks and turnings. If he and his braves could have followed that stream far enough while they were smoking and talking over plans, they might have reached a place where it turned a corner of the mountains and was joined by another and larger stream. The two in partnership were able to float a canoe. There was no canoe afloat there, but there was something yet more important away on down, a pretty long way, below the fork made by the junction of the two streams. There was a camp occupied by red warriors only, without one squaw to be seen in it, and it was therefore the camp of a "war-party." It was accompanied by a large drove of ponies, horses, and mules, and some of these had saddles and others carried packs. These were signs that the war-party had been successful and that pale-faces had been the sufferers. Every quadruped visible wore an air of being more or less fatigued, in token of having been driven or ridden both fast and far. From this it might have been gathered that these red men, however successful had been their expedition, believed or feared that they were followed by somebody whom they preferred to get away from. All these signs told the exact truth; it was also true that some pains had been taken to discover whether or not the supposed pursuit continued.
At the very hour when One-eye was making the best use he could of the bright moonshine in front of his own camp, and knew nothing at all about this other, a tall man stood in the deep shadow of a pine-tree, miles and miles down stream from the resting-place of the war-party. The bridle of a horse hung over his right arm, but the animal stood as motionless as did his master, and both were intently watching a dark shape that rode nearer and could be seen more and more clearly, and that paused at last upon the river-bank within thirty yards. Just as it did so there came from under the shadow of the pine-tree a flash and a sharp report, and all the upper part of the dark shape on the bank fell suddenly to the earth, uttering a loud, fierce yell.
"Got him!" was shouted from under the pine-tree, and the man walked out, leading his horse, while instantly there could be heard the sound of galloping hoofs beyond him. In a minute or so more a stern, hoarse voice rang out.
"Halt! What is it, Garry?"
"Got him, captain. 'Nother of them 'Paches. He won't carry back no news. Dead as a mackerel. Reckon they can't be far away now."
"We've taken pretty good care of their scouts, anyhow."
"Jest so many the less to fight when we come up with 'em. They'll outnumber us bad enough, I reckon, best we can make of it."
"Back to camp, Garry. Corporal Peters, take the same post, with two men. There may be more of them."
"All right, captain."
There was a little more talking done, but these seemed to be a somewhat quiet set of men. There were six of them besides the captain. They were all dressed in blue, and wore brass buttons and carried short-barrelled carbines and sabres. A good look at them would have recalled to the mind of Two Arrows all the arguments he had ever heard as to the wisdom of keeping the peace with the pale-faces. When they reached the camp, after "changing the guard" at Garry's river-side post, it was easy to see that their entire force consisted of several times as many men of the same sort. Every man was on his feet, wide awake and waiting for orders. One squad of five stood with each man's hand upon the bridle of a saddled horse, ready to mount, just as the first squad must have been, when it heard the warning report of Garry's carbine. A company of United States cavalry, veteran Indian fighters, following a "hot trail," keeps itself wonderfully ready for action. It is not easy to take such men by surprise. Now, however, at the word of command, all was instantly quiet again. The actual meaning of the alarm was rapidly told from man to man, and several remarked:
"Good for Garry! We'll catch 'em yet."
All who had a right to go to sleep, did so as unconcernedly as if they had been in a hotel. On the whole, it looked as if something else than peace were on its way into the valley where One-eye was keeping watch for the smokers. The last man to lie down was the captain, and one of the wide-awake squad nodded at him and said to another,
"If there was forty alarms 'fore sun-up, old Grover'd be the first man to turn out every time."
"Not much reg'lation 'bout him."
"But there's lots of fight."
"He can get more hard work out of men and hosses, and he can do more himself, and he can sleep less, and say less about it all, than any other captain I ever served under."
That, therefore, was the kind of soldiers from whom the Apaches were wisely trying to get away, and Garry's carbine had destroyed their prospect of learning how very near he and his might be. It looked very much as if two days more of hard riding would bring them into a sort of trap, with the mountains before and the cavalry behind. Still, even then, there would be the pass, if they knew where to find it. There also were One-eye and all of his men and Sile Parks and his party; and the wicked old mule, too, with his command, was in the valley somewhere. Only a few days earlier the entire sweep of forest and "open and mountain-side" had been unoccupied by anything more dangerous or more interesting than wild game and the wild animals that fed on it. It is very curious how suddenly immigrants will sometimes pour into a new country if there is a good trail pointing out the way.
The spot chosen by Yellow Pine for the camp of the mining party was by a dancing little brook which came down from the mountain to the right of them, and the path by which they travelled that day had barely kept them outside of the rocky slopes. Some coyotes came prowling around, to yelp over the faint smell of roasted meat that floated out to them from the camp-fires. Once during the night the cry of a wandering cougar came wailing through the silence and was followed by that of a horned owl who had noiselessly flapped near enough to blink his great eyes at the blaze. For all that, it was the loneliest kind of a place, and the hours went by until sunrise without the smallest real disturbance or hint of perils to come.
Judge Parks himself was on the watch in the first gray of dawn, and the camp was dim enough even after there were rosy tints upon the distant mountain summits. He stood gazing at these and leaning upon his rifle, when Yellow Pine walked out to take his customary survey of matters.
"We're going to have a fine day, jedge."
"Splendid weather. Pine, just think of all this magnificent country as it will be when it's settled. Farms, towns, villages, mines, railways, factories – "
"There won't be any game, then, or any red Indians, either."
"There isn't a finer country in all the world. The new time is coming, Pine."
"Of course it is. Our mine's coming first thing. We'll get there 'fore sundown. Wish I knew what else was coming."
"Afraid of anything?"
"Got a curious feeling in my back. Always have it when there's something up. It's as much like the rheumatiz as it is like anything."
"Guess that's what it is, then."
"I dunno 'bout that. I've had all sorts of things happen when I had this 'ere feeling onto me."
"Exactly, Pine. I've had dinner happen to me a good many times just when I had a sort of feeling it was coming. Soon as I got right down hungry I knew it was a sure sign. I say, look at those boys."
"Going a-fishing. I'd call it – Well, it's a good thing for 'em to do. They can't miss bringing in a good string. Sile, see here."
"Halloo!"
"Get back with some for breakfast if you can. We'll be right here till the critters have done feeding. Catch a heap."
"All right," shouted Sile. "He says the water's full of 'em."
"Of course it is."
"Sile," said his father, "don't throw away your time on fly-fishing. Use bait, and pull 'em right in. They'll bite."
"I'm going to spoon for 'em. Can't find any bait."
"Never mind, jedge," said Pine. "I've seen trout in some of these mountain streams jump for a bare hook quick as it tetched the water. There's too many on 'em, and they get the hungriest kind."
"They won't mind much what they jump at, that's sure. I must say I'd like some for breakfast, though."
Yellow Pine and the judge had other matters on hand, and the latter had a short nap to take, after his "watch." The animals had to be cared for, moreover, before any mere human being had a right to be fed.
The first noise that was made in camp brought Na-tee-kah and Ha-ha-pah-no out of their tent, comb and brush in hand. They both made sure of their ribbons and that all was in order before they had a word to say to anybody. It could not be denied that they were a very bright looking and highly ornamented pair, Ha-ha-pah-no being perhaps a little ahead.
Chapter XIX
WONDERFUL FISHING
There had been a good deal of discussion of the fishing question between the two young friends, for Two Arrows knew nothing of the powers of a "spoon-hook." Sile had them of several sizes, and Two Arrows admitted to himself that anything so very bright and pretty must have special effectiveness. Any of those spoons was brilliant enough to have been worn in the hat of a great chief, but the doubt remaining was as to what the trout would think of them. The gaudy assortment of artificial flies Two Arrows quite turned up his nose at. The fish of the western mountains were not in the habit of biting at such things, and could not be taught to do so. As to the hooks, however, large and small, anybody could see their superiority over such as he was accustomed to using, and the lines were elegant. Sile provided him with a rod, and when he marched away with it he felt a strong desire to carry it to and through his own camp, that everybody he knew might see what an extraordinary thing he was doing. No Nez Percé boy that he had ever heard of had been able to go a-fishing with a joint-rod and a spoon-hook.
They had but a mile or so to walk in order to reach the nearest bend of the little river, and they startled more than one gang of deer on the way. Sile had his rifle and Two Arrows had his bow, but the morning had been given up to fish, and they stuck to their original purpose in spite of all temptation. On the bank of the stream they paused for a moment and took a survey of the situation. The water was not more than fifty yards wide, and did not seem to be deep, but it ran with rippling swiftness.
"That'll do," said Sile. "It's plenty strong enough to carry a spoon. You won't have to skitter it a bit."
"Ugh! Heap fish," said Two Arrows, but he did not understand Sile's remark and wondered what was to come next. During all his life thus far he had never thought of the pale-faces as fishermen, or that they really knew anything valuable about such matters. The contents of Sile's box had staggered him, and now he looked on in silence while the "Red-head" (as Ha-ha-pah-no had named him) put his rod together, setting the reel firmly in its socket, and then deftly fitted on the spoon-hook with its fine wire "snell." Sile's father was an enthusiastic fisherman and had given his son more than a little good schooling. Up went the rod, and the line swing lightly back for a second, and then, with a perfect cast, the brilliant "spoon" flew over the water and alighted among the swift ripples. The current caught it and whirled it away, the polished silver glittering and dancing near the surface, but it was visible only for an instant. There came a rush and a plunge, and away out of the water sprang a splendid trout with Sile's hook fastened firmly in his too hasty jaw.
"Hurrah!" shouted Sile. "Got him!"
"Ugh! Good," said Two Arrows. "Break!"
"No, he won't break any line. See!"
Two Arrows did see a great deal in a very few moments. The tough rod bent, and Sile gave a little line at first; but the trout made an up-stream rush and was guided to the shore. He was lying on the grass, quietly enough, just after that. So was another and another, and now Two Arrows had mastered the idea and was at work with energy. It surprised Sile to see how perfectly his red friend could handle his new tools, but it was well that the rod was a stout one, for the reel and its uses were as yet an enigma. It was exciting sport, for there was hardly any waiting for bites whatever. The trout were on the lookout for their breakfasts, and nobody had ever before offered them such attractive little silvery fish as they now saw, every now and then struggling through the water, all ready to be seized upon.
It was a great lesson to Two Arrows, and it promised a capital breakfast to the mining party.
"Guess we've got enough," said Sile at last. "We'd better hurry back to camp."
At that moment a strange and unexpected sound came to his ears from some point lower down the stream, and Two Arrows came near to dropping his rod into the water.
"Ugh! Catch now!"
"Yes, you've caught your fish, but what's that? It sounds for all the world like a mule braying."
"Two Arrows know him. Heap bad mule. Nez Percé lose all pony. Find 'em now. Red-head come?"
Sile looked with admiration upon the fiercely excited face of the young Nez Percé. The dark eyes fairly glittered with pleasure and expectation, and he was striving, with all the words and signs he was master of, to convey an idea of the loss his band had sustained, and now once more, and more sonorously, the "morning bugle" of a mule in command of something came ringing up the river.
"I'll string the trout," said Sile, as he began to do so, "then I'll go with you. It'll be grand if we can really catch them."
"Two Arrows catch 'em all, heap time. Get one, get all tribe."
"Wish we were mounted. Better go to camp and get some horses."
"Ugh! No wait. Find now."
There was no such thing as resisting his eager urgency, and Sile himself began to get excited. The trout made two magnificent "strings," but were pretty heavy to carry, and it was decided to hang them and the two rods upon the limb of a tree until a visit should have been paid to the owner of that bray. All this was quickly attended to, and then the two fishermen were instantly changed into pony-hunters.
Not even his adventure with the grisly, or his timely success with the two bisons when his people were starving, had so aroused the ambition of Two Arrows. The future fortunes of his entire band seemed to him to depend once more upon his own individual good-conduct. Sile thought he had never seen so proud looking a human being.
The speckled beauties from the river swung heavily from the high but bending branch as the two boys hurried away, but these were almost forgotten by both in the course of a few minutes. They did not have to follow far the windings of the stream before Two Arrows, who was somewhat in the advance, dodged behind a tree and beckoned eagerly to Sile:
"Ugh! Look! Pony!"
Just beyond him was a grassy glade glistening with morning dew, and scattered over it was the entire command of the wicked old mule, the wealth and the comfort together of the Nez Percé pony-riders. To have been seen by them prematurely would have been a pretty sure way of stampeding them again, and the occasion called for prudence and good management. Some of the animals still had their long hide lariats hanging and dragging from their necks and some had not, but Two Arrows noted one of the former, a very good-looking pony, feeding at no great distance from a clump of hazel and willows beyond him. He made Sile understand his purpose of getting into that cover, and then all that Sile had to do was to watch him. Down dropped the young Nez Percé, and from that moment there was little of him to be seen, except when his gayly ribboned head now and then showed itself, peering over the wet, luxuriant grass and weeds. Then a slight movement among the willows told of his safe arrival, and still the runaways were feeding quietly, unaware of the nearness of human beings or other enemies. Sile peered from behind his tree and watched the movements of the particular pony his friend had pointed out. He was a brisk sort of fellow, and he was working at his breakfast busily. Nearer and nearer he fed his way towards a projecting growth of the hazel-bushes and Sile perceived a promising shake in one of these. There was something more than a shake hidden by them, for in about one minute more a light, lithe, graceful human form sprang suddenly out. A quick grasp at the trailing lariat, a rapid twist of a loop of it around the animal's face, a buoyant leap, and Two Arrows was a mounted Indian once more. Every beast of the wicked old mule's startled command was familiar with the tones of the whoop of triumph which called them all away from their grass and their freedom. They had many a time been driven in from other pastures by that particular yell, and it seemed now as if each of them took a swift look around him and listened for the expected voice of One-eye. It should naturally have followed that whoop. After that it was as if they had only been waiting for somebody to come, and wished to say as much. Their commander put out his head and brayed lustily, and so did all the other mules, but the ponies took the matter more soberly. Whether or not they had already begun to discover warning signs of cougars, wolves, grislies and other insecurities of their situation, they actually felt better to be once more in the company of a human being whom they knew. Sile wondered greatly to see how readily the whole drove obeyed the shouts of Two Arrows, and permitted themselves to be gathered and driven. He refused the invitation given him to mount one of the ponies, for he had doubts of his success in managing it barebacked and with such a halter-bridle. He explained as well as he could that he preferred to carry the fish and the rods and the news to his own camp, leaving Two Arrows to handle his captives as best he could. That was just what Two Arrows wanted. He was almost afraid lest the pale-faces should send him some help and so take from him part of the glory of his fresh achievement. There was little danger of that, as Sile was soon to discover. He hurried back after his fish in a state of such excitement that he very nearly forgot that he was in a new country. He would have forgotten it more completely if it had not been for something he heard as he drew nearer the spot where he had left his speckled game.
"What's that?" he suddenly exclaimed, stopping short and listening. "What's all that growling? I never heard a bear, but it might be one."
So it might be, indeed, in a country where they were so plentiful, but it was not a grisly this time. It was only a common black bear, very fond of fish, and tremendously disgusted at the failure of his efforts to get hold of some which had plainly been caught and left expressly for him. Standing upon his hind-feet, and springing up as far as he was able, his paws just reached the end of the longest string of trout and set it a swinging. Two Arrows had wisely insisted upon bending down a branch and hanging the fish pretty high, Indian fashion, and Sile now saw the reason of it.
"He'd bring 'em all down as it is if I should let him take his time to it. What shall I do now? Oh, but ain't I glad I brought along my rifle!"
He was glad of it, very; but when he raised it in the direction of that bear the sight seemed to dance in all directions, and he could not get a good aim, short as was the distance.
Sile had the "buck ague."
Even old hunters sometimes find their nerves playing tricks on them. It would not do to miss a shot then and there, and Sile lowered his rifle.
"I'll try a rest and see about this thing. I must hit that bear in the head the first time, sure." He stepped behind a tree and put his rifle through the crotch of a projecting branch. That tree had no shake in it; and the barrel grew steady. "He is getting up on his hind-feet again. Now for him."
The bear poised himself, with uplifted head, and, just as he lifted his paw for another scratch at the fish, Sile pulled the trigger.
The range was very short, the rest was a good one, the sight was quick but careful, and the bit of lead went straight to its intended place under the ear of that black bear. He would need no more fish from that time forth, and he pitched heavily forward upon the ground.
"Wait a moment, Sile! Never run in on a b'ar till yer sure of him. Reckon he's dead, though. Stand where you are, my boy!"
"Why, father! Yellow Pine! You here? I never expected to see you."
"Well, my son," said the judge, "we thought we'd come over and see what luck you were having. Where's Two Arrows?"
"We watched ye jest a moment," said Pine. "Allers take sight from a rest if you can get one. You did that thing fine. There's the making of a prime good shot in ye."
"I shook all over at first," said Sile, walking a little nearer the bear.
"Buck ager. I've had it. He won't come to. If he does it's no matter, now we've got here. I'll come back after breakfast with a hoss and fetch him in. Where's the redskin?"
Sile rapidly explained the cause of his delay in getting back to camp; but what he did not know or explain was the fact that the Nez Percés had had no idea that their drove of lost ponies had wandered into that valley.
"Glad they've got 'em," said Yellow Pine. "Every hoof of ourn'll be safer from this time on, treaty or no treaty, good Indians or bad."
"Would they really steal from us, after all?" asked Sile, soberly.
"Steal hosses? Well, now, that isn't jest the way it looks to them. They're brought up to it. All hoss-flesh is fair game to a plains redskin. The more they have of their own, the easier it is to get 'em to keep their hands off from them that you have and to make believe good. These 'ere Nez Percés ain't a bad lot. Hope we won't run afoul of any that's worse than they are, and more of 'em."
Sile was proud of his fish, and tenfold prouder of his bear, but the proudest person in the mining-camp that morning was Na-tee-kah. Her wonderful brother had earned some more glory. The next proudest being was probably Ha-ha-pah-no, and she asked, several times in succession, of both herself and Na-tee-kah, and without any satisfactory answer,
"What Big Tongue say, now? Tell how he caught pony?"