The Silver Canyon

by Fenn, George Manville

  Just then one came up stream, saw the danger impending, and went off like a flash through the water, turning slightly on his side and showing his great silvery scales.

  “Too late for him, Joses,” cried Bart.

  “Ah, you must be sharp with them, my lad, I can tell you,” cried his companion. “Well, as I was telling of you, the rock on the opposite side of the river rose up like a wall, and there was just a shelf of stone big enough for a man to land on before he tried to swim back. Those stones, too, were right in the sunshine, and the wall behind them was just the same, and they’d be nice and warm.”

  “How do you know, Joses?”

  “How do I know? because I’ve swum across that river often, and it’s very cold—so cold that you’re glad to get out and have a good warm on the rocks before you try to swim back. Got him again?”

  “Yes,” replied Bart, who had made a successful thrust. “Only a small one though.”

  “Not so bad, my lad; not so bad. He’s a good eight or nine pounds. Well, as I was telling you, this young man got out on the bit of a shelf, and was warming himself, when his eyes nearly jumped out of his head, for he saw half-a-dozen Injuns come from among the pine-trees, and one of them, when he saw that young man there, ran loping towards where the gun stood, caught it up, and took a quick aim at him. Now, then—Ah, I’ve got you this time,” cried Joses, spearing the largest fish yet caught, dragging it out of the water, and taking it ashore.

  “Fine one, Joses?” cried Bart.

  “Yes; he’s a pretty good one. Ah, you missed him again. It wants a sharp poke, my lad. Well, now then,” he added, as Bart, recovered himself after an ineffectual thrust, “what ought that young man to have done, Master Bart?”

  “Taken a header into the river, dived, and swum for his life.”

  “Right, boy; but he was so scared and surprised that he sat there staring at the Injun, and gave him a chance to fire at him, being so near that the shot whistled by his ear and flattened on the rock behind, and fell on the shelf where he was sitting.”

  “That woke him up, I suppose?” said Bart.

  “It just did, my lad; and before the Indians knew where he was, he went plop into the river and disappeared, and the Injun ran down to catch him as he came up again.”

  “And,” said Bart, quickly, “they didn’t catch sight of his head when he came above the water, because he swam up with the eddy into a dark pool among some rocks, and squatted there, with only his nose above the water, till they thought he was drowned, and went, and then he crept out.”

  “Why, how did you know?” growled Joses.

  “Because you’ve told me half-a-dozen times before. I recollect now,” said Bart, “only you began it in a different way, so that I thought it was a new story; and you were that young man, Joses.”

  “Course I was,” growled the other; “but hang me if I tell you a story again.”

  “Never mind, Joses; here’s another,” cried Bart, laughing.

  “And here’s a bigger one, Master Bart,” said Joses, chuckling.

  “What splendid sport!” cried Bart, as he followed Joses ashore with his prize, and added it to the silvery heap.

  “Ay, it ain’t amiss. We shall give them a reg’lar treat in the camp, that we shall.”

  “Look, Joses, the Beaver’s got a monster. He has let it go. What’s he bounding ashore for like that?”

  “Quick, Master Bart—danger!” cried Joses, excitedly, as a warning cry rang along the river. “Look out! This way!”

  “What’s the danger?” cried Bart, leaping ashore and un-slinging his rifle.

  “Injun, my lad; don’t you see ’em? they’re coming down the canyon. This way. Never mind the fish; make straight for the chimney. We can hold that again ’em anyhow.”

  Crack—crack! went a couple of rifles from some distance up the river, and the bullets cut the boughs of the trees above their heads.

  Bart’s immediate idea was to sink down amongst the herbage for cover and return the shot, but the Beaver made a rush at him, shouting, “No, no, no!” and taking his place, began to return the fire of the approaching Indians, bidding Bart escape.

  “I don’t like leaving all that fish after all, Master Bart,” said Joses; “they’d be so uncommon good up yonder. Go it, you skunks! fire away, and waste your powder! Yah! What bad shots your savages are! I don’t believe they could hit our mountain upstairs there! Hadn’t we better stop and drive them back, Beaver, and let the greasers carry away the fish?”

  Crack—crack—crack! rattled the rifles; and as the faint puffs of smoke could be seen rising above the bushes and rocks high up the canyon, the sounds of the firing echoed to and from the rocky sides till they died away in the distance, and it seemed at last, as the firing grew a little hotter, and was replied to briskly by Joses and the Indians, that fifty or sixty people were firing on either side.

  The attack was so fairly responded to that the Apachés were checked for the time, and Joses raised himself from the place he had made his rifle-pit, and called to the Mexican greasers to run and pick up the fish, while he and the Indians covered them; but though he called several times, not one responded.

  “What’s come of all them chaps, Master Bart?” he cried.

  “I think they all got to the chimney, and began to climb up,” replied Bart.

  “Just like ’em,” growled Joses. “My word, what a brave set o’ fellows they are! I don’t wonder at the Injun looking down upon ’em and making faces, as if they was an inferior kind of beast. Ah, would you?”

  Joses lowered himself down again, for a bullet had whizzed by in unpleasant proximity to his head.

  “Are you hurt, Joses?” cried Bart, half rising to join him.

  “Keep down, will you, Master Bart! Hurt me? No. They might hit you. I say, have you fired yet?”

  “Yes, three times,” replied Bart; “but I fired over their heads to frighten them.”

  “Hark at that!” cried Joses; “just as if that would frighten an Injun. It would make him laugh and come close, because you were such a bad shot. It does more harm than good, my lad.”

  Crack!

  Joses’ rifle uttered its sharp report just then, and the firing ceased from a spot whence shot after shot had been coming with the greatest regularity, and the rough fellow turned grimly to his young companion.

  “I don’t like telling you to do it, Master Bart, because you’re such a young one, and it seems, of course, shocking to say shoot men. But then you see these ain’t hardly like men; they’re more like rattlesnakes. We haven’t done them no harm, and we don’t want to do them no harm, but all the same they will come and they’ll kill the lot of us if they can; so the time has come when you must help us, for you’re a good shot, my lad, and every bullet you put into the Injun means one more chance for us to save our scalps, and help the Doctor with his plans.”

  “Must I fire at them then, Joses?” said Bart, sadly.

  “Yes, my lad, you must. They’re five or six times as many as we are, and they’re coming slowly on, creeping from bush to bush, so as to get a closer shot at us. There, I tell you what you do; fire at their chests, aim right at the painted skull they have there. That’ll knock ’em down and stop ’em, and it’ll comfort you to think that they may get better again.”

  “Don’t talk foolery, Joses,” cried Bart, angrily, “Do you think I’m a child?”

  Joses chuckled, and took aim at a bush that stood above a clump of rocks, one from which another Indian was firing regularly; but just then the Beaver’s rifle sent forth its bullet, and Bart saw an Indian spring up on to the rocks, utter a fierce yell, shake his rifle in the air, and then fall headlong into the river.

  “Saved my charge,” said Joses, grimly. “There, I won’t fool about with you, Master Bart, but tell you the plain truth. It’s struggle for life out here; kill or be killed; and you must fight for yourself and your friends like a man. For it isn’t only to serve yourself, lad, but others. It’s stand by one
another out here, man by man, and make enemies feel that you are strong, or else make up your mind to go under the grass.”

  Bart sighed and shuddered, for he more than once realised the truth of what his companion said. But he hesitated no longer, for these savages were as dangerous as the rattlesnakes of the plains, and he felt that however painful to his feelings, however dreadful to have to shed human blood, the time had come when he must either stand by his friends like a man, or slink off like a cur.

  Bart accepted the stern necessity, and watching the approach of the Indians, determined only to fire when he saw pressing need.

  The consequence was that a couple of minutes later he saw an Indian dart from some bushes, and run a dozen yards to a rock by the edge of the swift river, disappear behind it, and then suddenly his head and shoulders appeared full in Bart’s view; the Indian took quick aim, and as the smoke rose from his rifle the Beaver uttered a low hissing sound, and Bart knew that he was hit.

  Not seriously apparently, for there was a shot from his hiding-place directly after, and then Bart saw the Indian slowly draw himself up into position again, partly over the top of the rock, from whence he was evidently this time taking a long and careful aim at the brave chief, who was risking his life for the sake of his English friends.

  Bart hesitated no longer. Joses had said that he was a good shot. He was, and a quick one; and never was his prowess more needed than at that moment, when, with trembling hands, he brought his rifle to bear upon the shoulders of the savage. Then for a moment his muscles felt like iron; he drew the trigger, and almost simultaneously the rifle of the savage rang out. Then, as the smoke cleared away, Bart saw him standing erect upon the rock, clutching at vacancy, before falling backwards into the river with a tremendous splash; and as Bart reloaded, his eyes involuntarily turned towards the rushing stream, and he saw the inanimate body swept swiftly by.

  “What have I done!” he gasped, as the cold sweat broke out upon his brow. “Horrible! What a deed to do!” and his eyes seemed fixed upon the river in the vain expectation of seeing the wretched savage come into sight again.

  Just then he felt a touch upon his arm, and turning sharply found himself face to face with the Beaver, whose shoulder was scored by a bullet wound, from which the blood trickled slowly down over his chest.

  As Bart faced him he smiled, and grasped the lad’s hand, pressing it between both of his.

  “Saved Beaver’s life,” he said, softly. “Beaver never forgets. Bart is brave chief.”

  Bart felt better now, and he had no time for farther thought, the peril in which they were suddenly appearing too great.

  For the Beaver pointed back to where the chimney offered the way of escape.

  “Time to go,” the Beaver said. “Come.”

  And, setting the example, he began to creep from cover to cover, after uttering a low cry, to which his followers responded by imitating their leader’s actions.

  “Keep down low, Master Bart,” whispered Joses. “That’s the way. The chimney’s only about three hundred yards back. We shall soon be there, and then we can laugh at these chaps once we get a good start up. We must leave the fish though, worse luck. There won’t be so many of ’em to eat it though as there was at first. Hallo! How’s that?”

  The reason for his exclamation was a shot that whizzed by him—one fired from a long way down the canyon in the way they were retreating, and, to Bart’s horror, a second and a third followed from the same direction, with the effect that the savages who had attacked first gave a triumphant yell, and began firing quicker than before.

  “Taken between two fires, Master Bart,” said Joses, coolly; “and if we don’t look out they’ll be up to the chimney before we can get there, and then—”

  “We must sell our lives as dearly as we can, Joses,” cried Bart.

  “Good, lad—good, lad!” replied Joses, taking deadly aim at one of the Indians up the river, and firing; “but my life ain’t for sale. I want it for some time to come.”

  “That’s right; keep up the retreat. Well done, Beaver!”

  This was an account of the action of the chief, who, calling upon three of his men to follow him, dashed down stream towards the chimney, regardless of risk, so as to hold the rear enemies in check, while Bart, Joses, and the other three Indians did the same by the party up stream, who, however, were rapidly approaching now.

  “I want to know how those beggars managed to get down into the canyon behind us,” growled Joses, as he kept on steadily firing whenever he had a chance. “They must have gone down somewhere many miles away. I say, you mustn’t lose a chance, my lad. Now then; back behind those rocks. Let’s run together.”

  Crack—crack—crack! went the Indians’ rifles, and as the echoes ran down the canyon, they yelled fiercely and pressed on, the Beaver’s men yelling back a defiance, and giving them shot for shot, one of which took deadly effect.

  There was a fierce yelling from down below as the savages pressed upwards, and the perils of the whole party were rapidly increasing.

  “Didn’t touch you, did they, Master Bart?” cried Joses from his hiding-place.

  “No.”

  “Keep cool, then. Now, Injuns! Another run for it—quick!”

  A dash was made after the Beaver to a fresh patch of cover, and the firing from above and below became so fierce that the position grew one of dire extremity.

  “Look out, my lads!” cried the frontiersman; “they’re getting together for a rush. You must each bring down your man.”

  There was no mistaking the plan of the Indians now, and Bart could see them clustering into some bushes just at the foot of the mountain where it ran perpendicularly down, forming part of the canyon wall. They seemed to be quite thirty strong, and a bold rush must have meant death to the little party, unless they could reach the chimney; and apparently the savages coming up from below had advanced so far that the Beaver had not been able to seize that stronger point.

  “Keep cool, Master Bart. We must stand fast, and give ’em such a sharp fire as may check them. As soon as we’ve fired, you make a run for it, my lad, straight for the chimney. Never mind anybody else, but risk the firing, and run in and climb up as fast as you can.”

  “And what about you, Joses?” asked Bart.

  “I’ll stop and cover your retreat, my lad; and if we don’t meet again, tell the Doctor I did my best; and now God bless you! good-bye. Be ready to fire.”

  “I’m ready, Joses, and I shan’t go,” replied Bart firmly.

  “You won’t go? But I order you to go, you young dog!” cried Joses, fiercely.

  “Well, of all the—look out, Beaver! Fire, Master Bart! Here they come!”

  Quite a volley rang out as some five-and-twenty Indians came leaping forward, yelling like demons, and dashing down upon the little party. Two of this number fell, but this did not check them, and they were within fifty yards of Bart, who was rapidly re-charging, when Joses roared out: “Knives—knives out! Don’t run!”

  The bravery of the Indians, of Joses, and Bart would have gone as nothing at such a time as this, for they were so terribly outnumbered that all they could have done would have been to sell their lives as dearly as they could. In fact, their fates seemed to be sealed, when help came in a very unexpected way, and turned the tide of affairs.

  The savage Apachés had reduced the distance to thirty yards now, and Bart felt quite dizzy with excitement as he fired his piece and brought down one of the enemy, whose ghastly, painted breasts seemed to add to the horror of the situation.

  Another moment or two, and then he knew that the struggle would come, and dropping his rifle, he wrenched his knife from its light sheath, when suddenly there was a fierce volley from on high—a fire that took the Indians in the rear. Six fell, and the rest, stunned by this terrible attack from a fresh quarter, turned on the instant, and fled up the canyon, followed by a parting fire from which a couple more fell.

  “Hurray!” shouted Joses; “now for the c
himney. Come, Master Bart! Now, Beaver—now’s your time!”

  They ran from cover to cover, meeting shot after shot from below, and in a minute were close up with the Beaver and his three men, who were hard pressed by the advancing party.

  “Now, Beaver,” cried Joses, finishing the re-loading of his piece, “what do you say to a bold rash forward—right to the mouth of the chimney?”

  “Yes,” said the chief; “shoot much first.”

  “Good,” cried Joses. “Now, Master Bart, fire three or four times wherever there’s a chance, and then re-load and forward.”

  These orders were carried out with so good an effect that the Apachés below were for the moment checked, and seemed staggered by this accession of strength, giving the little party an opportunity to make their bold advance, running from bush to bush and from rock to rock until they were well up to the mouth of the chimney, but now in terribly close quarters with their enemies, who held their fire, expecting that the advance would be continued right on to a hand-to-hand encounter.

  Then there was a pause and a dead silence, during which, in obedience to signs made by the Beaver, first one and then another crept behind the bushes to the mouth of the chimney, entered it, and began to ascend. There was a bit of a fight between Bart and Joses as to which should be first, with the result that the latter went first, then Bart followed, and the Beaver came last.

  So close was it, though, that as they climbed up the steep narrow rocky slope there was a fierce yell and a rush, and they saw the light slightly obscured as the Apachés dashed by the entrance in a fierce charge, meant to overwhelm them.

  Directly after the canyon seemed to be filled with yells of disappointment and rage, as the Apachés found that their intended victims had eluded them just as they had vowed their destruction.

  This gave a minute’s grace, sufficient for the fugitives to get some little distance up the narrow rock passage, the Beaver and Bart pausing by the top of the steepest piece of rock about a hundred feet above the entrance, which, overshadowed as it was by trees, had a beautifully peaceful appearance as seen against the broad light of day.