by G. A. Henty
Another quarter of an hour passed, and then suddenly a mounted Indian appeared at the mouth of the Canyon. He checked his horse and sat gazing up it. Dave’s rifle cracked, and the Indian fell backward from his saddle; and a sudden yell of anger and surprise rose outside. Another moment and a dozen figures appeared at the entrance. Zeke fired.
“Now, Dick!” Dave said a moment later, and the lad, whose rifle was resting on the rock in front of him, pulled his trigger, and almost immediately Dave fired again. Another moment and the mouth of the Canyon was clear. Another Indian lay by the side of the first who had fallen.
“I reckon all the shots told,” Dave said; “we could hardly miss that clump. Now I don’t think you will see any more of them; they know we are here and they know we are ready for them, and it aint in Indian nature to throw away their lives charging up a place like this. They had reckoned the five first would go down anyhow. Then they will guess that we have got pistols, and the redskins hate six-shooters like poison.”
The time passed slowly, but the quiet in the Canyon remained undisturbed.
“I expect it is as I said, Zeke; they won’t attack again by daylight, though I don’t say as they won’t try and crawl up when it gets dark, but I don’t think as they will. If there is a village up in the hill behind us they will send round to it, and wait here till they hear a fight begin inside. If there aint no village, half of them will ride round to come down on us. However, they won’t set about that at once. Injuns are never in a hurry, and they think that they have got us safe in here and can take things easy. If it is a long way round and they aint quite sure of the path, like enough they won’t start until they calculate they will get there at daybreak, when they will guess that we shall be all pretty well worn out with keeping watch here.”
“I guess that is about it, Dave. Anyhow, we can push out as soon as it begins to get too dark for them to see us from the village across there—that is, as soon as the sun has gone down behind the hills to the south.”
Dave had from time to time left his post and gone to keep up the fire and to put a fresh batch of dough in the pan, and as soon as a shadow fell across the valley he said, “Now we will be off. I reckon there is no fear of the redskins getting round for a time; but I tell you that gold makes one mighty fidgety.”
Six loaves had been baked, and each taking two, while Dave, in addition, took the pan and kettle, they mounted the path. When they reached the tail of the string of horses Dave hailed Boston Joe, and a moment later the miner’s head appeared on the edge of the cliff above them.
“Is it all clear?”
“Aye. I have seen nothing of them—ne’er a thing moving.”
“Well, we will go at once, Joe. Even a redskin’s eyes could not make us out from that village now.”
The horses were at once set in motion. As soon as they had left the path the cords were unfastened, and the five mounted.
“Which way, Dave?” Boston Joe asked.
“We had better make west. It is lucky we shall have the moon, for there is no traveling over the hills in the dark if you don’t know the way. Anyhow, we will make straight back at present, or we may come upon those fellows riding round. We will go in Indian file. I will go first, with a pony tied to mine. The two lads will follow, then either you, Zeke, or Joe, can take the last pony, and the other one ride in the rear, so that you can keep us well in sight, and yet be far enough off to use your ears.”
For an hour they continued their course south, the ground rising as they went. Then they reached a dip running west.
“We will follow this,” Dave said; “it is the right direction anyhow, and it is as likely to take us down into the valleys again in time.”
As they proceeded, the dip became more decided, and after two hours’ riding the sides narrowed in.
“We shall strike a water-course soon,” Dave said, turning round to speak to Tom, who was riding next to him. “The water that falls here has got to make its way out somewhere, and this is the only way as it can go. Not that there is much water, for it is often months without rain.”
Presently they found that the ground was covered with pebbles.
“There is the water-course, you see,” Dave said.
The fall became steeper and steeper, and the ground more stony; low trees and bushes rose on the slopes on either side.
“We had best dismount here,” Dave said; “it is growing mighty steep, and we may come upon a sudden fall anywhere, and it is mighty difficult to judge about depth in the moonlight.”
The lads were heartily glad at the order, for they had for some time been momentarily expecting that their horses would come down over the bowlders.
“I will go twenty yards ahead,” Dave said. “You had better loose the baggage-ponies and let them pick their own way. Throw your bridles on your horses’ necks: they will go a deal safer so than if you were leading them; the critters can pick their way anywhere if they have got time and can look about.”
Luckily the moon was still high and shot full down upon the path they were traveling. Even on foot the lads found it difficult to make their way down. Sometimes they had to climb over heaps of bowlders, sometimes to slide down smooth faces of rock so steep that they could not keep their feet upon them, and often it seemed so perilous that they would have hesitated to attempt it had they not seen that Dave with his two horses kept steadily on below them.
CHAPTER XIV
In the Ravine
The lads were surprised at the way their own horses followed, sliding on their haunches down the steepest places and picking their way among rocks and bowlders. Six hours after starting they found themselves in a deep ravine, whose sides were covered with trees. They had now lost the moon, and it was far too dark for them to progress further.
“We will give them four hours’ rest,” Dave said; “that long halt on the path was worse than traveling. We shall go three times as fast when we get light to help us as in the dark; besides, we have got to look for some place where we can double on them. We shan’t find that till we are out of this valley. We shall have to be pretty spry if we are going to get away from them; they will come along fast when they once take up the trail. It has taken us six hours to get down here; it won’t take them three. Well, I hope we shall get on the move an hour or two before they do. If they wait until daylight before advancing there will be a lot of hubbub and talk before they really make up their minds that we have really slipped through their fingers, and arrange for a start. Still, by midday we shall be having them behind us if we can’t find the way to throw them off.”
“I’d willingly take twenty ounces for my share of that gold, to be paid to me at Santa Fe,” Boston Joe said.
“So would I, Joe; there ain’t no denying it, we are in a tight place, and unless we find some way out of it in the morning, my own opinion is that we have only got one chance, and that is to leave all the horses behind us and to take our rifles and a loaf of bread each, and to start back on foot.”
“I should not wonder if we came to that,” Zeke said; “but we will hold on for a few hours, and, anyhow, before we leave them we will hide them bags. Possibly we might come back some day; anyhow, we could each tote along what we have got in our blankets; it aint as if we were going to run all the way from here to the settlements. Twelve pound weight aint nothing one way or the other.”
“No, nor twenty,” Boston agreed. “I vote if we do have to leave the horses we slip open one of the bags and take another eight pounds or so each. Twenty pounds aint much for a man to carry besides his gun and ammunition and a chunk of bread. Well, let the rest of you lie down and get a couple of hours’ sleep. I was off once last night.”
“All right; wake us directly you see a change in the sky. We should give the horses a chunk of bread and a drink each before we start.”
It seemed to the lads that they had been asleep for five minutes only when they were roused. It was but the work of a few minutes to adjust the loads again and to give the ho
rses the bread and water. It was still hardly light in the ravine when they were ready to start, but all were too anxious to get on to delay a moment. As soon as the day had broadened a little they were able to pick their way along on the comparatively level ground beyond the edge of the water-course, and the horses were put into a trot.
“If we can keep on like this,” Joe said, “the Apaches won’t be up to us before night. They will know that we have got nigh twelve hours’ start of them, and though they may start off fast at first, they will soon settle down into a pace that they can keep up all day.”
After journeying for three hours they came upon the spot where two other ravines fell into that along which they were journeying.
“Let us hold a council,” Dave said. “Now, what do you think had best be done—push straight forward or take one of these other gulches?”
“They seem to run back almost the same line as that ye have been following,” Dick said.
“All the better, lad. They will be less inclined to think that we have taken it. What do you say, Zeke?”
“I think we had better push straight on, Dave. If they were coming along in the dark it would be a different thing; but they would not go a horse’s length afore they missed our tracks, and even if we muffle the critters’ feet, they are strong enough to send a party each way.”
“So they are, Zeke; but it would be a sight better to fight a third of them than the hull lot.”
“I think that it would be better to push on, Dave,” Boston Joe said. “There ain’t no saying where these narrow valleys lead, they wind and double every way; besides, they are dry, so I says let us push on till we get into one of the main valleys.”
“Well, we will do it, Joe; anyhow, we may as well do as I say and muffle their feet. The Injuns will know what we have done when they see the tracks stop here, but, as you say, they won’t know whether we have gone straight on or turned up one side or the other. I guess most likely they will think that we have turned up; anyhow, they are sure to divide.”
No further talking was necessary. The blankets were all cut up, bunches of dry grass were laced under the horses’ feet to form a pad, and the strips of blankets wound round and round and securely fastened.
“Now, on we go again, lads,” Dave said, setting the example, and they rode straight down the ravine ahead of them. Two hours later the blankets were taken off and thrown among the bushes, the rocks having cut through them, they were useless any longer to conceal the tracks, and they incommoded the horses. A mouthful of water was given to the animals, and they again started at a brisk pace. The sides of the valley were now narrowing in again, and becoming much steeper; the trees had ceased, and the bare rock rose in some places almost precipitously.
“The water rises high here when there is a storm,” Zeke said. “You see, it is pretty nigh closed up somewhere in front here.”
“All the better,” Dave said; “we can make a fight for it in a place like that, and hold it till dark. They can’t be far behind us now. Stop the horses a moment and listen.”
A faint sound was heard.
“That is them,” Dave said; “they aint above a mile behind; push on till we find a good place to make a stand.”
CHAPTER XV
Rifle-Shots
Another five minutes they entered a gorge so blocked with rocks that had fallen from above that they had the greatest difficulty in leading the horses over them.
“It could not be better,” Dave said. “We can stop them here. Zeke, do you go on with Dick, see how far this goes, and what the chances are when we get out of it. If you can see any way of climbing the side of the valley come back and tell us. Then I reckon the best thing will be for you to take the horses down and go straight up, leaving Dick to tell us exactly where you have gone up; then, as soon as it is quite dark, we will be off and follow you; they won’t be able to pick up the trail and will guess we have gone straight down the valley. Anyhow, it will give us another twelve hours’ start.”
Zeke nodded. “We may as well take the critters down at once,” he said; “it may be two or three miles before we can find a place where we can get out of this valley, and there aint no use making two journeys of it.”
Somewhat reluctantly Dick followed Zeke, driving the horses before them.
They had been gone but five minutes when he heard the crack of a rifle behind them.
“Do you think they are sure to be able to hold that place?”
“They are safe for some time, anyhow,” Zeke said. “As soon as the redskins see they are brought to a stand they will draw off and wait till the bands that have gone up the other valleys join them. No doubt, as soon as they had made out our tracks again, they sent a kipple of men off to fetch them back, but I reckon they wouldn’t have seen them till they got four or five miles down, and by that time the other bands would have been as much farther up the side-valleys, and the messengers would have a long ride before they overtook them—ten or twelve miles, maybe—and they would have all that to come down again, so they would be pretty well four hours before they had joined the first band, and in four hours it will be dark enough for Dave to draw off.”
“There they go again!”
Shot after shot echoed among the cliffs. The gorge extended for another mile, and then widened rapidly. A mile and a half farther the sides were clad with trees, and the slope, although still steep, was, Zeke said, possible for horses to scramble up.
“They will go up there safe enough,” he said, “five of them with nothing to carry, and the other four ain’t heavy loaded. You see them two trees standing alone on the crest there?”
“I see them, Zeke.”
“Well, that is to be your mark. You will make them out plainly enough in the moonlight. I shall be just down beyond them. I need not tell you to be keerful how you go when you get beyond the shelter of the trees below. Dave will know all about that. Now you can be off back again.”
Dick started back at a run, and in less than half an hour joined the other three among the rocks.
“Found a place, lad?”
“Yes; they have started up.”
“I am glad you are back. These fellows look as if they were going to make an attack on us. They are about five-and-twenty of them, and I guess they know as well as we do that it will be dark before their friends join them. However, I don’t think they will make a rush; they will lose heart when three or four of their number get shot, and weaken when it comes to climbing these rocks in face of our six-shooters. Now, do you two lads keep below; get down right among the rocks, so that you can fire out through some hole between them, and directly you have fired get out of the line, for a stray bullet might come in.”
Scarcely had the boys taken their position, and looked along their barrels, when they saw a dozen dark figures spring up among the rocks fifty yards away.
Two shots were fired by the miners, and two of the Indians fell forward; then, one after another, the lads fired, as they felt sure of their aim, while at the same moment two sharper cracks sounded close to them, for the Colt at forty yards is as deadly a weapon as a rifle. Three more of the Indians fell, and the rest sank down behind rocks and opened fire at the position held by the whites. These reloaded rapidly.
“Now keep a sharp lookout,” Dave said, “but don’t fire unless they rise again. Joe and I will make it hot for them as they raise their heads to take aim.”
The rifles were fired but twice, and then the fire of the Indians ceased.
“I think we have accounted for two more,” Joe said. “We shan’t hear any more of them. Seven out of twenty-five is a sharp lesson, and the first man who fell was their chief, I reckon, and they will wait till the sub-chiefs with the other bands come up. Now, the sooner the sun goes down the better. There is one thing, it will be dark down here an hour before it is on the hill-tops.”
“Why shouldn’t we fall back at once?” Tom asked.
“Because, like enough, they will open fire occasionally, and if we di
dn’t reply they would think we had made off, and would follow us, and pick up the trail where the horses left the valley. We have got to wait here until it is too dark for them to follow the trail. The moment it is dark enough for that we are off.”
It was just getting dusk, when Dave said, suddenly:
“There is one of the other bands coming up. They are a good bit away yet, but I can hear them.”
Dick could only make out a low, continuous murmur that sounded to him like a distant waterfall.
“What do you think, Joe,” Dave said; “would it be safe to make a run for it? We might beat off the first attack, but some of us are safe either to get killed or hurt too badly to travel. They will talk for a quarter of an hour at least after they come up, and by the time they find we have gone, and got their horses over these rocks, and got down to the mouth of this gorge, it will be too dark for them to follow the tracks.”
“I am with you, Dave,” Joe said, as he discharged his rifle. “That is one more wiped out. He was just going to fire to see whether we were here still. That has answered the question; now let us be off. Go as quiet as you can, lads, and don’t make the slightest noise. Just creep along until we are three or four hundred yards away. You may be sure that they are listening.”
For a quarter of a mile they moved very cautiously.
“Now I think we are safe,” Dave said, breaking into a run.
At a steady trot they kept on down the gorge. Just as they reached its mouth, they heard a faint yell in the distance.
“They have found we are off. They will be five minutes and more before they have brought up their horses and got over the rocks, and they will go pretty cautious, because they will be expecting to be ambushed. It is getting pretty dark now; we shall be in among the trees before they are out.”