The Silver Canyon

by Fenn, George Manville

  He knew now what he had only partly realised before, and that was the fact that these beautiful, smooth sands, over which the swift current pleasantly glided, were quicksands of the most deadly kind, and that if he had not struggled back there would have been no chance of escape. Another step would have been fatal, and he must have gone down, for no swimming could avail in such a strait.

  But Bart, in spite of the shock of his narrow escape, had not forgotten the object for which he had lowered himself from the rock, and gazing eagerly towards the shallows, he saw that it was just being swept off then into the deep water that rushed round the buttress upon which he stood.

  It was the work of moments. Reaching out as far as he could, he just managed to grip the clinging garment of the object sweeping by, and as he grasped it tightly, so great was the power of the water, that he felt a sudden snatch that threatened to tear the prize from his hand. But Bart held on fiercely, and before he could fully comprehend his position he found that he had overbalanced himself, and the next moment he had gone under with a sullen plunge.

  Bart was a good swimmer, and though encumbered with his clothes, he felt no fear of reaching the bank somewhere lower down; and, confident in this respect, he looked round as he rose to the surface for the body of him he had tried to save, for as he struck the water he had loosened his hold.

  There was just a glimmer of something below the surface, and taking a couple of sturdy strokes, Bart reached it before it sank lower, caught hold, and then guiding his burden, struck out for the shore.

  The rocks from which he had come were already a hundred yards above them, the stream sweeping them down with incredible swiftness, and Bart knew that it would be folly to do more than go with it, striving gently the while to guide his course towards some projecting rocks upon the bank. There was the possibility, too, of finding some eddy which might lead him shoreward; and after fighting hard to get a hold upon a piece of smooth stone that promised well, but from which he literally seemed to be plucked by the rushing water, Bart found himself in a deep, still pool, round which he was swept twice, and, to his horror, nearer each time towards the centre, where, with an agonising pang, he felt that he might be sucked down.

  Dreading this, he made a desperate effort, and once more reached the very edge of the great, calm, swirling pool just as the bushes on the bank were parted with a loud rush, and the Beaver literally bounded into the water, to render such help that when, faint and exhausted, they all reached a shallow, rocky portion of the stream a quarter of a mile below where Bart had made his plunge, the chief was ready to lift out the object the lad had tried to save, and then hold out his hand and help the lad ashore.

  The next minute they were striving all they knew to try and resuscitate him whom Bart had nearly lost his life in trying to save, the interpreter joining them to lend his help; and as they worked, trying the plan adopted by the Indians in such a case, the new-comer told Bart how the accident had occurred.

  His words amounted to the statement that while the speaker and the chief had been collecting sticks for a fire to roast a salmon they had speared with a sharp, forked stick, they had seen the Doctor busily rinsing the sand in a shallow pool of the rocks, well out, where the stream ran fast. They had not anticipated danger, and were busy over their preparations, when looking up all at once, they found the Doctor was gone.

  Even then they did not think there was anything wrong, believing that while they were busy their leader had gone to some other part among the rocks, till, happening to glance down the stream some minutes later, the Beaver’s quick eyes had caught sight of the bright tin bowl which the Doctor had been using to rinse the sand in his hunt for gold, floating on the surface a hundred yards below, and slowly sailing round and round in an eddy.

  This started them in search of the drowning man, with the result that they reached Bart in time to save both.

  For after a long and arduous task the Doctor began to show signs of returning life, and at last opened his eyes and stared about him like one who had just awakened from a dream.

  “What—what has happened?” he asked. “Did—did I slip from the rocks, or have I been asleep?”

  He shuddered, and struggled into a sitting position, then thoroughly comprehending after a few minutes what had passed:

  “Who saved me?” he asked quickly.

  The Beaver seemed to understand the drift of the question, for he pointed with a smile to Bart.

  “You?” exclaimed the Doctor.

  “Oh, I did nothing,” said Bart modestly. “I saw you floating down towards me, and tried to pull you on a rock; instead of doing which, you pulled me in, and we swam down together till I got near the shore, and then I could do no more. It was the Beaver there who saved us.”

  The Doctor rose and grasped the chief’s hand, wringing it warmly.

  “Where’s Joses?” he said sharply.

  No one knew.

  “Let us go back,” said the Doctor; “perhaps we shall meet him higher up;” and looking faint and utterly exhausted, he followed the two Indians as they chose the most easy part of the valley for walking, the Doctor’s words proving to be right, for they came upon Joses toiling down towards the passage leading to the plain with six heavy fish hanging from a tough wand thrust through their gills.

  They reached the chimney, as Bart christened it, just about the same time as Joses, who stared as he caught sight of the saturated clothes.

  “What! been in after the fish?” he said with a chuckle. “I got mine, master, without being wet.”

  “We’ve had a narrow escape from drowning, Joses,” said the Doctor, hoarsely.

  “That’s bad, master, that’s bad,” cried Joses. “It all comes o’ my going away and leaving you and Master Bart, there; but I thought a few o’ these salmon chaps would be good eating, so I went and snared ’em out with a bit o’ wire and a pole.”

  “I shall soon be better, Joses,” replied the Doctor. “The accident would have happened all the same whether you had been there or no. Let us get back to the camp.”

  “Are we going to leave them beautiful fish the Beaver and old Speechworks here have caught and cooked?” asked Joses, regretfully.

  “No,” said the Doctor, sinking down upon a stone, “let us rest and eat them. We shall not hurt out here in this bright sunshine, Bart, and we’ll wring some of the water out of our clothes, and have less weight to carry.”

  This speech gave the greatest of satisfaction, for the party were ravenously hungry, and the halt was not long enough to do any one hurt, for the broiled salmon was rapidly eaten. Then they started, and after a rather toilsome climb, ascended once more to the level of the plain, and reaching the waggons learned that all was well, before proceeding to the Doctor’s quarters in his tent at the top of the mountain.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty.

  The Beaver sniffs Danger.

  “There’s something wrong, Master Bart,” said Joses that evening, as Bart, rejoicing in the luxury of well-dried clothes, sat enjoying the beauty of the setting sun, and thinking of the glories of the canyon, longing to go down again and spend a day spearing trout and salmon for the benefit of the camp.

  “Wrong, Joses!” cried Bart, leaping up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Dunno,” said Joses, gruffly, “and not knowing, can’t say.”

  “Have you seen anything, then?”

  “No.”

  “Have you heard of anything?”

  “No.”

  “Has anybody brought bad news?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?” cried Bart. “Why don’t you speak.”

  “’Cause I’ve nothing to say, only that I’m sure there’s something wrong.”

  “But why are you sure?”

  “Because the Beaver’s so busy.”

  “What is he doing?”

  “All sorts of things. He hasn’t said anything, but I can see by his way that he sniffs danger somewhere. He’s getting all the hor
ses into the cavern stable, and making his men drive all the cattle into the corral, and that means there’s something wrong as sure as can be. Injun smells danger long before it comes. There’s no deceiving them.”

  “Let’s go and see him, Joses,” cried Bart; and, shouldering their rifles, they walked past the drawn-up rows of empty waggons, whose stores were all high up on the mountain.

  As they reached the entrance to the corral the Indians had driven in the last pair of oxen, while the horses and mules were already in their hiding-place.

  “Did the Doctor order this?” asked Bart.

  “Not he, sir: he’s busy up above looking at the silver they dug out while we were down in the canyon. It’s all the Beaver’s doing, Master Bart, and you may take it for granted there’s good cause for it all.”

  “Ah, Beaver,” said Bart, as the chief came out of the corral, “why is this?”

  “Indian dog. Apaché,” said the chief, pointing out towards the plain.

  Bart turned sharply round and gazed in the indicated direction, but he could see nothing, neither could Joses.

  The Beaver smiled with a look of superior wisdom.

  “The Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth,” said the interpreter, coming up, “hears the Indian dog, the enemies of his race, on the wind; and he will not stampede the horses and cattle, but leave the bones of his young men upon the plain.”

  “But where are the Apachés?” cried Bart. “Oh, he means, Joses, that they are out upon the plain, and that it is wise to be ready for them.”

  “Yes; he means that they are out upon the plain, and that they are coming to-night, my lad,” said Joses. Then, turning to the chief, he patted the lock of his rifle meaningly, and the chief nodded, and said, “Yes.”

  “Come,” he said directly after, and he led the frontiersman and Bart to the entrance of the stable, where his followers were putting the last stones in position. Then he took them to the corral, which was also thoroughly well secured with huge stones; and the Indians now took up their rifles, and resuming their ordinary sombre manner, stood staring indifferently about them.

  Just then there was a loud hail, and turning quickly round, Bart saw the Doctor waving his hand to them to join him.

  “Indians are on the plains,” exclaimed the Doctor. “I saw them from the top of the castle,”—he had taken to calling the mountain rock “the castle,”—“with the glass. They are many miles away, but they may be enemies, and we must be prepared. Get the horses secured, Joses; and you, interpreter, ask the Beaver to see to the cattle.”

  “All safely shut in, sir,” said Bart, showing his teeth; “the Beaver felt that there was danger an hour ago, and everything has been done.”

  “Capital!” cried the Doctor; “but how could he tell?”

  “That’s the mystery,” replied Bart, “but he said there were Indian dogs away yonder on the plains.”

  “Indian dog, Apaché,” said the Beaver, scowling, and pointing towards the plain.

  “Yes, that’s where they are,” said the Doctor, nodding; “he is quite right, and this being so, we must get up into our castle and man the walls. Let me see first if all is safe.”

  He walked to both entrances, and satisfied himself, saying:

  “Yes; they could not be better, but, of course, all depends upon our covering them from above with our rifles, for the Apachés could pull those rocks down as easily as we put them there. Now then, let us go up; the waggons are fortunately empty enough.”

  The Doctor led the way, pausing, however, to mount a waggon and take a good look-out into the plain, which he swept with his glass, but only to close it with a look of surprise.

  “I can see nothing from here,” he said, “but we may as well be safe;” and entering the slit in the rock they called the gateway, he drew aside for the last few “greasers,” who had been tending the cattle, to mount before him; then Joses, Bart, the Beaver, and his followers came in. The strong stones kept for the purpose were hauled into place, and the entry thoroughly blocked, after which the various points of defence were manned, the Doctor, with several of the Englishmen, taking the passage and the gate, while the Beaver, with Joses, Bart and the Indians, were sent to man the ramparts, as the Doctor laughingly called them; that is to say, the ingeniously contrived gallery that overlooked the stable cavern and the great corral.

  “You must not spare your powder if the cattle are in danger,” said the Doctor for his last orders. “I don’t want to shed blood, but these savages must have another severe lesson if they mean to annoy us. All I ask is to be let alone.”

  Bart led the way, and soon after was ensconced in his rifle-pit, with Joses on one side and the Beaver on the other, the rest of the party being carefully arranged. Then the Doctor spread the alarm up above, and the men armed and manned the zigzag way, but all out of sight; and at last, just as it was growing dark, the great plain fortress looked as silent as if there was not a man anywhere upon its heights, and yet in their various hiding-places there were scores, each with his deadly rifle ready to send a return bullet for every one fired by an enemy.

  “No firing unless absolutely necessary,” was the Doctor’s whispered order; and then all was silent while they waited to see if any enemy would really come.

  They were not long kept in doubt, for just as the heavens had assumed that peculiar rich grey tint that precedes darkness, and a soft white mist was rising from the depths of the canyon, there was seen, as if arising from out of the plain itself, a dark body moving rapidly, and this soon developed itself into a strong band of Indians, all well-mounted in their half-naked war costume, their heads decked with feathers, and each armed with rifle and spear.

  They were in their war-paint, but still they might be disposed to be friendly; and the Doctor was willing to believe it till he saw through his glass that they wore the skull and cross-bones painted in white upon their broad, brown chests, and he knew that they were of the same tribe as had visited them before, and gone off after so severe a lesson.

  Still he hoped that they might be friendly, and he was determined that they should not be fired upon without good reason.

  A few minutes later he changed his opinion, for, evidently well-drilled by their chief, the Indians charged towards where the tilted waggons were drawn up in the shade of the rock, riding with as much precision as a well-drilled body of cavalry. Then, at a sign, they drew rein in a couple of ranks, about fifty yards from the waggons, and presenting their rifles, without word of warning, fired a volley.

  Another volley followed, and another, the thick smoke rising on the evening air, and then, apparently surprised at there being no replying shot, about twenty galloped up with lowered spears, thrust two or three times through the canvas tilts, and galloped back, the whole band sweeping off the next moment as swiftly and as silently as they came, gradually becoming fainter and more shadowy, and then quite disappearing from the watchers’ sight.

  “They’re gone, then?” whispered Bart, drawing a breath of relief.

  “Yes; they’re a bit scared by the silence,” said Joses; “but they’ll come back again.”

  “When?” said Bart.

  “Sneaking about in the dark, to stampede the horses and cattle, as soon as ever they know where they are, my boy.”

  “Yes—come back,” said the Beaver in a low tone, and he whispered then to the interpreter.

  “Apaché dogs will come back in the night when the moon is up,” said the interpreter. “They will steal up to the camp like wolves, and die like dogs and wolves, for they shall not have the horses and oxen.”

  And just then the Beaver, who seemed to comprehend his follower’s English, said softly:

  “It is good.”

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty One.

  In the Watches of the Night.

  The hours went by, but no sound or sign came from the plain; the stars started out bright and clear, and in the east there was a faint, lambent light that told of the coming of the moon ere long, but sti
ll all seemed silent in the desert.

  The Englishmen of the party seemed to grow weary, and began talking so loudly that the Doctor sent sternly-worded messages to them to be silent; and once more all was still, save when some one fidgeted about to change his position.

  “Why can’t they keep still?” growled Joses, softly, as he lay perfectly motionless, listening to every sound. “They don’t understand how a man’s life—ah, all our lives—may depend on their being still. Look at them Injuns. They never move.”

  Joses was quite right. Each Indian had taken his place where appointed, and had not moved since, saving to settle down into a part of the rock. The swarthy, muscular fellows might have been part of the stone for any sign they gave of life.

  At last the moon rose slowly above the edge of the vast plain, sending a flood of light to bring into prominence every bush and tree, striking on the face of the mountain, and casting its shadow right away over the plain. From where Bart crouched he could not see the moon, for he and his companions were behind rocks, but there was the heavy shadow of the mountain stretching to an enormous distance; and as he watched it, and saw how boldly it was cut, and how striking was the difference between the illumined portions of the plain and those where the shadow fell, he could not help thinking how easily the Indians might creep right up to them and make a bold assault, and this idea he whispered to Joses.

  “’Taint much in their way, my lad,” he whispered. “Injun don’t care about night-fighting, it’s too risky for them. They don’t mind a sneak up—just a few of them to scare the horses and cattle and make ’em stampede, and they don’t mind doing a bit o’ spy of the enemy’s camp in the dark; but it isn’t often they’ll fight at night.”

  “But you expect them to come, don’t you?”

  “I don’t,” said Joses; “but the Beaver does, and I give in. He knows best about it, having been so much more among the Injun than I have, and being Injun himself. I daresay they will come, but they won’t stampede our horses, I’m thinking, and they won’t get the cattle. They may get to know where the ways are into the corral and the horse ’closure, and perhaps find out the path up to the castle, as the master calls it.”