CHAPTER XVI
THE FEE IS ACCEPTED
The whole party came into Stephens's room and settled themselves roundthe wall on the floor, much as they had done the night before. Stephensseated his prisoner on a stool in the middle, and taking the cacique'srevolver from his belt laid it on the table. As he did so, he drew theattention of Tostado, who was next to him, to the two recentlydischarged chambers in the cylinder. "Those were the shots," said he.
"Maybe so, Don Estevan," answered the Indian suavely. "Doubtless you areright in what you say, as you always are. We know that your honour isvery wise and very just. But before we do anything about it we want toknow what Salvador has to say; we have not heard him yet."
"I do not want to conceal anything," said the cacique abruptly. "I sawthem from the top of the hill that leads down from the mesas to La Boca.I went straight to the river to them. He was on foot driving my horse,trying to drive him into the river. I fired at him once, twice. He ranaway and stopped. I took my horse and my daughter, and I brought themhome. He ran after us, but he fell down. I saw him lying there the lastthing from the hill. If he is dead, he is dead. I do not know any more."
His story was so straightforward and simple that it was convincing.
"Where did you say all this happened?" asked Stephens.
"On the river, down below La Boca a league," answered the Indian.
The chiefs began to question him about the details of the affair. Hedescribed to them the position of the fugitives when he overtook them,and the refusal of the terrified horse to enter the swollen river.
"Then Felipe was not riding your horse," observed Stephens, who waslistening, for in deference to him they spoke in Spanish for the timebeing.
"No, he was on foot. He was driving the horse," was the reply of thecacique.
"I suppose your daughter was on the horse?" said Stephens.
"Yes, he was taking them both along," answered the Indian.
"How old is she?" asked the prospector. "She looks almost a womangrown."
The Indian reflected a little while. "She was a little child so high,"he answered at last, "when there was the great war in the States," andhe held his hand at a height to indicate a child of ten years old.
"She must be eighteen now, then," said Stephens.
"I suppose so. Yes, if you say so," admitted the Indian.
"Then she is not a child," said Stephens, "and she can marry him oranyone she likes. You have no right to prevent her. Understand that.This is a free country. By the law a woman is as free as a man; she maygo where she likes and marry whom she likes. She is not a slave, anddon't you think any such thing. No American can strike a woman; that isthe deepest of shames."
He paused after this, for him, unusually long speech, which was intendedquite as much for the benefit of the other Indians as the cacique. TheAmerican felt a little elated at the thought that single-handed he hadbeen able to arrest their cacique in their midst, and he could notresist improving the occasion.
There was a minute's silence, and then Tostado fixed his keen black eyeson the American's face. "Listen to me, Senor Don Estevan," he said. "TheAmericans have their way; that is good for them. The Mexicans have theirway; that is good for them. And the wild Indians,--the Utes, and theComanches, and the Navajos too,--they have their own ways. And we, wehave our laws. We don't change them. I know if one Indian kills another,then the law of the Americans is to judge him; but the rest of thethings we manage among ourselves. The Government gives us that right. Wehave our own alcalde. We have our own customs. And when men and women dowrong together we beat them. Then they are afraid. That is why our womenare so good. Not like the Mexicans. That is good for us. We do not wantto change."
"But," cried Stephens, "if it is your custom to beat the women likedogs, you ought to change it. Everybody knows that that it is shameful."
"For the Americans," said the old Indian, with the air of a man makingan extremely reasonable concession, "I do not say anything. Let themhave their ways, and treat their women as seems good to them. So theyare content; that is right. But we have our ways; we do not want tochange; we are content to be as we are."
Stephens felt nonplused. It seemed to him that he was not much of asuccess as a missionary on the rights of women, and he felt, too, thatin this discussion he had wandered from the main point. After all, hehad arrested his man for the murder of Felipe, and not for beating hisdaughter, though his motive in doing so had been to rescue the helplesswoman.
"You have heard Salvador's story," he said to the chiefs abruptly."Suppose we go and hear that of the witness, if she is able to speak."
They assented at once, and Stephens, bidding Salvador himself remainwhere he was, led the way. On arriving at the house, they found the girllaid on some skins in an inner room. Stephens went into the room andknelt down beside her, the others remaining beyond the open door.
She opened her eyes, and perceiving who it was gave him a meaning look."You have saved me once," she whispered; "can you save me again? _She_is making poison for me. I have seen"; and her eyes turned towards herstep-mother, who was mixing something in a gourd at the end of the room.
Stephens gave a low whistle. "This is a queer business," he muttered tohimself. "I wonder if the girl's telling lies. Maybe she's off her nut.Likely enough, after such a hammering. The old woman doesn't look such abad lot. After all," he went on thinking, "perhaps I had better get heraway. These folks can be pretty low-down when they try."
"Can you move?" said he to the girl. "Can you walk?"
"Yes," she answered; "I am quite strong. Only I am looking how toescape."
Neither fatigue, nor bodily pain, nor mental torture, had robbed her ofher senses, or tamed her spirit. Since the blows which she had enduredwith such stoical courage had ceased, she had been collecting herself,conquering the pain, and trying to think. She had recognised a friend inthe touch of Stephens's hand, and in the tones of his voice. She hadmade up her mind to appeal to him if possible for aid, and now here hewas at her side.
"Can you take me away?" she whispered.
"All right," he answered. "I'll see what I can do."
"Probably," he mused, "they will say all sorts of ugly, low-down thingsabout me for this, but I can't leave her here at the mercy of thesewoman-beaters, and that's all there is to it. If I can take two or threeof the principal men along, I don't see why she shouldn't come to SantaFe with us, if she's up to it; but I don't want any more confoundedscandal than I can help."
He got up and went to the door and addressed Tostado. "She is able toget up, and to talk," he said. "It will be best to have her come over tomy room there and hear what she has to say."
They assented. The American felt all through that though the chiefs didnot directly oppose him, their feeling was against him. He led the way,and they followed reluctantly. Josefa, a blanket thrown over her, anddrawn over her head so as to conceal her face all but the eyes,accompanied Stephens, but so stiffly and painfully did she walk from theeffects of the violence she had suffered, that the idea of her beingable to undertake a journey became out of the question.
They entered the American's room, and sat down as before, the girlsitting on the ground near the fireplace. She answered the questionsput to her in a low but firm voice.
Her statement tallied exactly with the cacique's. She had seen herlover's blood flow, and the last she had seen of him as she looked backwas his figure stretched on the sand. After hearing her evidence,Stephens felt no doubt that Felipe had been murdered.
"I must secure her somehow," he said to himself. "She'll be wanted as awitness. I suppose his confession alone won't be enough. And shecertainly believes the cacique's wife'll kill her if I leave her there.She aint fit to go to Santa Fe, and it would be simply brutal to ask itof her. No, I'll have to try another plan. The only way to save her isto have them acknowledge that I have the right to protect her."
"Tostado," said he, addressing the fine old man whose wisdom and forceof character made him b
y far the most influential of the chiefs, "youtold me just now that you had your own customs that you did not wantever to change."
"Yes, senor," said he.
"Well, it is your custom, is it not, that an unmarried woman belongs toher father, and that he can give her to anyone he pleases?"
"Yes," said Tostado; "that is, he can give her to any man in the pueblothat is not of her family. But we should not allow him to give her toany man in another pueblo. We do not allow the women of Santiago to goaway."
"Well," continued Stephens, "last night when I had blasted the ditch foryou, you all came here and wanted me to stay with you always; and yousaid that everything you had was mine, and that whatever I asked you foryou would give me. Is not that so?"
"Yes," said Tostado simply. "You speak the truth." A general murmur ofassent confirmed his statement.
"Now," said Stephens, "I'm going to ask you for something, and I shallsee whether Indians mean a thing when they say it. I ask you for thedaughter of Salvador--for Josefa."
There was a general movement of surprise. The Indians talked eagerly toone another, but in their own language, so that they were unintelligibleto the American. Presently Tostado spoke.
"How do you mean?" said he, addressing Stephens. "As your wife?"
"As wife, as servant, as anything I like," he answered. "You say now shebelongs to Salvador. I want her to belong to me."
The Indians again conversed among themselves.
"But she's promised to Ignacio," said her father to the others. "Thepadre's coming to-morrow."
"That makes no odds," said one. "Ignacio doesn't want her now she hasrun off with Felipe."
"It doesn't make any difference if he does," said another. "He's acowardly old creature; he won't do anything."
"Give him another daughter," said a third, "instead. One that won't runaway," he added in an aside for the benefit of the rest. "Perhaps hewill give you six cows if you warrant her to stop." The three cows ofold Ignacio's bargain were no secret in the pueblo.
The general opinion seemed to be that after the affair of last nightboth Salvador and Ignacio would be well rid of Josefa on any terms.
"Besides," said the first speaker, with a meaning look towards theAmerican, "if he really wants her, so much the better for you. He willbe as good as your son-in-law. He will never give you up to the agentand the governor then. Much better do it at once."
Salvador rose from his seat, and going towards the fireplace took thegirl by the shoulder.
"Come here," said he.
She winced at his touch, but she got up and obeyed him. He took her tothe American. "Here she is," he said aloud before them all. "I give herto you. Keep her and do what you like with her. From now on she is notmine any longer but yours."
"Do you all agree to that," said Stephens, turning to the chiefs.
"Yes," was the reply. "Yes; it is good."
Stephens turned to the crowd who were peeping in at the door. "TellReyna I want her, some of you," said he.
In a minute the old squaw was fetched, and pushed, looking rathersheepish and surprised, into the middle of the room. While she wascoming, Stephens had disappeared into the inner room and now came outagain with some bags in his hands.
"Look here, Reyna," he began. "They have given Josefa to me. She belongsto me now. I want you to take care of her for me. I'll pay you for yourtrouble. Here is flour and meat and coffee and sugar for the present."
Reyna was taken aback, and looked shyly round at the company. TheIndians at once confirmed what Stephens had told her. She took the bagsfrom his hands, and made her way out again through the crowded doorwaywith a queer look on her puzzled face. She did not quite know what thisunaccountable American was up to.
Stephens followed her with the girl. They entered the house of Reynatogether.
"You will be quite safe here with her," he said in a kindly voice. "I'llsee that you come to no harm."
The girl turned to him to thank him, but no words would come. She wasfairly worn out with the strain of this last trying scene, added to herfatigue and cruel anxiety about Felipe's fate.
"Here, Reyna," said the prospector, noticing her condition, "this girl'sabout played out. You had better see to her at once," and turning on hisheel he left the house, closing the door carefully behind him.
As soon as he was outside he looked closely at the group of young men."Tito," he called.
Tito came to him, and they walked together a little apart from the rest."Look here, Tito," began Stephens, "I've got a job for you. I know youare a friend of Felipe's. I want you to go and look for him. Take mylittle mule and put your saddle on him. Go over to the Rio Grande andlook along near the river about a league below La Boca. If you find himdead, get a man from there to help you with the body. If he's onlywounded, have him taken care of, or bring him back if you can. Tell himhe need not be afraid now. Here's two dollars for expenses. Mind you getsome corn for the mule at La Boca. Off with you as soon as you can."
Tito did not need telling twice. "I'll do just what you say, DonEstevan," he said, as he stowed the money in a little pouch on his belt,and away he flew like the wind.
The American returned to his own house. He found Tostado awaiting himat the door. The other chiefs had disappeared. Salvador's wife had comewith food which she had prepared for her husband.
"It was time for breakfast, Don Estevan," explained Tostado, "and theyhave gone home. The woman has brought Salvador's here."
"He could have eaten with me for all that," said Stephens, "but wehadn't decided about who was to go to Santa Fe with me. Will you?"
"Well, I have no horse here, Don Estevan," said the old man. "Afterbreakfast we will see about it."
"Very well," said Stephens in a grumbling tone. "I suppose we must waittheir pleasure. It isn't much running off to breakfast there'd be if itwas anything they wanted to do."
However, there was nothing to do but wait, and Stephens had plenty oftime to do his own cooking in the interval. It was nearly an hour beforethe chiefs were reassembled--having, indeed, to be sent for by Stephensindividually; but by persistence he got them together at last andproceeded to business.
"Now, friends," he began, "who is going with me to Santa Fe? Don't allspeak at once," he added in English for his own benefit, smiling grimlyas he saw the blank look on their faces as he renewed his unwelcomeproposal.
"Will you go, Benito?" he said, determined to press them one by one.
The Indian instead of replying conversed rapidly with the others. Theyhad hoped that the transfer of Josefa to Stephens might have modifiedthe American's absurd passion for what he considered to be justice.
"Look here, Don Estevan," began Benito, "it is better to wait.To-morrow, when Tito gets back, then----"
"Oh, nonsense!" broke in Stephens impatiently, "Tito mayn't be back fora week, and it makes no odds about him anyhow."
"But," interrupted Ramon, another of the chiefs, "we have got no horseshere. You have your own mare, and the mule for Salvador, but we havenone. When Tito comes back with your other mule----"
"Oh, Tito be bothered!" said the American. "I tell you we don't wanthim."
Suddenly there was a shout outside. A Mexican rider came tearing up thevillage, and reined his reeking horse on to his haunches at Stephens'sdoor. Flakes of bloody foam flew from the bit, and the horseman's rowelswere red. He sprang into the room, covered with sweat and dust from theroad.
"The Senorita Sanchez!" he exclaimed breathlessly, "the Senorita Sanchezhas been carried off by the Navajos in the night." All present leapt totheir feet.
"What!" cried Stephens, "Manuelita?" He stood aghast.
"Yes," repeated the Mexican; "the Senorita Manuelita Sanchez is in thehands of those villains."
"Of that Mahletonkwa!" the American exclaimed, seizing his rifle; "buthow? and where are they?"
"_Quien sabe?_" said the Mexican, "_esperate, Don Estevan_; wait amoment, senor, till I tell you," for Stephens had caught up his saddleand was making f
or the door. "All we know is that she is gone; thetracks of the Navajos are all round the house and on the roof, and it isguessed that they entered so, in the night, while everybody was asleep,and carried her off."
"What idiots!" exclaimed Stephens. "Why didn't they keep a watch?"
"Who could have dreamed of such an attempt?" replied the Mexican. "Thedoors were fastened safe. No one thought of their getting over the roof.But it is proved that they must have done so; their moccasin tracks arethere on the roof to show it. And they have fled with her to thewestward; the tracks of their horses go all up the valley of the AguaNegra. They have got a long start. But Don Nepomuceno and Don Andreshave raised a party; they have got all the men they could in San Remoand gone on their trail: they are hoping to overtake them."
"Can I catch up with them?" asked Stephens hoarsely. "By George! but Iwish I had stayed down there last night; but how could I or anyone haveimagined such a thing as this? Poor, poor girl!"
He forgot the cacique, his prisoner for having shot down Felipe; heforgot Josefa, lying there next door dependent on his protection; forthe moment all these things vanished from his mind before this dreadfulcatastrophe.
"Yes," answered the Mexican, "you will be able to catch them--they havebut an hour's start of you; you will, that is, if you can follow theirtrail, for you have a good mare. But what they want you to do--what Icame here to say, what Don Nepomuceno begged me to urge on you--is tobring with you some of these Indians of the pueblo to assist him infollowing the trail of the Navajos. Our friends here of Santiago didgood service as trailers for Coronel Christophero Carson during the waragainst the Navajos; Don Nepomuceno is sure they will follow you, too,against the Navajos if you will ask them."
Stephens paused and pondered a moment. His first impulse had been tomount at once and gallop straight in pursuit. But there was wisdom inDon Nepomuceno's counsel; most assuredly the Indians would be invaluableif they came, and clearly there was nothing else he could do that wouldbe half so useful as to bring them. And with reflection came back theimage of the helpless Josefa, and he instantly realised that if he couldtake the cacique along with him her position would become ever so muchsafer; for he could not be blind to the fact that as soon as he was goneshe might yet be in danger supposing that the cacique remained behind.Yes, in every way it would be better to enlist the cacique for thepursuit; he decided to try and do so on the spot.
"This is a shocking thing that the Navajos have done," he said to theIndians around him, "and they will have to smart for it. You have allheard the suggestion made by this gentleman," he looked at the Mexicanas he spoke, "and I entirely agree with it. Cacique, will you and aparty of your warriors come with me on the war-trail against thesescoundrels? You will do a public service if you can succeed inrecovering the senorita from them; and in that case, whatever you mayhave done to Felipe, the rescue of the captive would count for much inyour favour. In short, Cacique, if you will render good service inrecovering her, I will appeal to the governor to pardon you. There is myoffer."
The Indians talked it over rapidly among themselves. All joined inurging Salvador to seize the opportunity given him of escaping from theconsequences of his rash act. Nor did he want much urging; he had foughtthe Navajos before, and was personally no ways loath to take the fieldagainst them again, and pride made him ardently desire to shine beforehis people in the character of a leader. In five minutes the matter wassettled among them and his companions selected.
"Yes, Don Estevan," said he, "your offer is accepted. I will go with youon the trail of these Navajos, and I will take with me Miguel, who isour best tracker, and Alejandro, who is very good also. And it is agreedthat you stand my friend in the matter of Felipe."
"Agreed," cried Stephens; "and now let us be off. You have weapons andammunition."
"My horse is tired," said the cacique; "and how about horses for theyoung men?"
"My mule can carry one," said Stephens. "Could we have your horse,senor," he asked, turning to the Mexican, "and let you ride Mr. Backus'shorse back to San Remo?--for I presume he isn't fit for another journey,either."
"Alas," said the Mexican politely, "I fear I cannot accommodate you inthis. I have to ride now post-haste to Rio Grande and warn DonNepomuceno's friends there of the trouble that has befallen him. Theywill doubtless send a party from there also on the trail. Were it notfor that I would ride with you myself with pleasure."
"Look, now," interrupted the cacique, "at the plan which I propose. Letus go to the horse herd beyond the Cerro de las Viboras. My horse istired indeed, but he can take me there; your mule is strong,Sooshiuamo,"--he took the first opportunity to call Stephens by hisIndian name as a sign of renewed amity,--"let him carry our two youngmen also as far as the herd; when we get to the herd we will choosefresh horses for each of us, and we will take one of the herders alongwith us, young Ignacio, who is very clever at trailing, and knows thecountry; and besides, it is possible that the herders may have seensomething of Mahletonkwa's band, and can give information. In any casewe will start afresh from the horse herd and cut the trail ofMahletonkwa, and perhaps of Don Nepomuceno's party a good way off fromhere." Stephens looked up doubtfully at this suggestion. "Oh, neverfear," continued the cacique boastingly, "we can leave a trail and findit again; I will show you what our men are like as trailers. There is noone equal to the Santiago men on a trail."
The cacique was known for a man of skill and resource in all thesethings of practical importance. He had indeed aroused the indignation ofthe prospector by his cruelty to Felipe and to his daughter, but in thatafter all he did but act according to his nature; Indians were cruelanyhow. The savage, even in the best of them, was close to the surface.When it came to going on the war-path the value of the peculiar powersof the savage was manifest, and Stephens felt satisfied with his ownaction in turning them to a good purpose. The cacique's proposal wasunquestionably sound, and he accepted it without hesitation.
"Tell me," he said, "before you go," turning to the Mexican who hadbrought the news, and was standing there, quirt in hand, ready to startas soon as their plans were decided upon, "what more is there knownabout this matter?"
"_Pues, nada, senor_," answered the young man--"nothing--absolutelynothing. We know neither at what hour of the night they took her away,nor with what object they have done it, but it is doubtless to extortthe money from her father, the money that they have been demanding forthe Navajo killed by Don Andres."
"Does the postmaster know anything about it?" asked Stephens; "I thoughthe acted very ill yesterday with regard to the Indians. If he's had anyhand in it, by George!----" he broke off with a sudden fury ofsuspicion.
"Nothing is known either about him, senor," replied the Mexican; "Mr.Backus declares that he had no idea of their doing such a thing. Theywere at his store during the afternoon, but they went off again to adistance to camp before sunset. Doubtless they would conceal theirscheme from him as from everybody else. And now, senor, with yourpermission I am for the road. I have near twenty leagues to ride to-day.I report, then, to all my friends that you, with the Indian trailers ofSantiago, are going to take the trail. Believe me, we relied on youconfidently to assist." He grasped Stephens hand warmly, sprang to hissaddle, and was presently galloping for the Rio Grande.
The Indians ran to their houses for their guns and for the provision ofdried meat and parched maize they would require for the journey, whileStephens brought his mare to the door and saddled her, tying a blanketfor himself on behind, and filling his saddle-bags with as much victualsas he could stuff into them. Before starting he ran into Reyna's houseto take one look at Josefa. She was lying on a rug spread on the ground.In a few words he told her of his summons to pursue Mahletonkwa, and hisacceptance of the cacique's services for the purpose. "But don't you beafraid," he continued; "you're all right now. He shall never lay hishand on you again. Reyna will look after you, and nurse you, and feedyou. You just stick by her as if she was your mother. And if anyonetries to bother you while I'm gone, yo
u just tell them to go to blazes.You tell them that you belong to me now, and that if they go to try anynonsense on with you I'll know the reason why. They'll have me to reckonwith. See? That's my talk, and don't you forget it." He gave her limphand a reassuring pressure as she lay there, and turned away. Threeminutes later he was riding north-westward from the pueblo in thecompany of Salvador, Miguel, and Alejandro.
Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine Page 17