All at once there was a loud yell, betokening the fact that the entrance to the chimney had been seen, and directly after a couple of Indians leaped in and began to climb.
Bart’s and the Beaver’s rifles seemed to make but one report, when the narrow chasm was filled with the vapour of exploded gunpowder, and the two Indians fell back.
“Climb,” whispered the Beaver; and Bart led the way, the chief keeping close behind him, till they were on the heels of the rest of the party, who had halted to see if they could be of use.
The entry was now hidden, and they stopped to listen, just as the successive reports of three rifles came echoing up in company with the curious pattering noise made by the bullets, which seemed as if they glanced here and there against the stones, sending fragments rattling down, but doing no farther harm, for the fugitives were not in the line of the shooters’ sight.
The retreat went on, with the Beaver and Joses taking it in turn to remain behind at a corner of the rift or some barrier of rock to keep the Apachés in check, for they kept coming fiercely on. Now and then they were checked by a shot, but in that dark narrow pass there was but little opportunity for firing, and the chief thing aimed at was retreat.
The top was reached at last, and as they neared it, to Bart’s great delight, he found that there was a strong party there, headed by the Doctor, who had heard the firing, and came to his followers’ relief.
The main thing to decide now was how to hold the Apachés in check while a retreat was made to the mountain, where all was right, the horses and cattle being in their strong places, and every one on the alert.
The Beaver decided the matter by undertaking, with one of his men, to keep the Apachés from getting to the top till their friends had reached the rock, where they were to be ready to cover his retreat.
The Doctor made a little demur at first, but the chief insisted, and after an attempt on the part of the Apachés at fighting their way up had been met by a sharp volley, the whole party, saving the Beaver and one follower, retreated to the rock fortress, where they speedily manned all the points of defence, and waited eagerly for the coming of the chief. But to Bart’s horror he did not come, while simultaneously there was a shout from the Doctor and another from Joses, the one giving warning that a very strong body of mounted men was appearing over the plains, the other that the savages from the canyon had fought their way up the chimney, and were coming on to the attack.
* * *
Chapter Thirty Three.
Mourning lost Friends.
The failure of the Beaver and his follower to put in an appearance made Bart’s heart sink down like lead, while Joses turned to him with a dull look of misery in his eye.
“It’s bad, Master Bart,” he said; “it’s very bad. I hates all Indians as hard as ever I can hate ’em, but somehow the Beaver and me seemed to get on well together, and if I’d knowed what was going to happen, it isn’t me as would have come away and left him in the lurch.”
“No, Joses, neither would I,” said Bart, bitterly. “But do you think—”
“Do I think he has escaped, my lad?” said Joses, sadly, for Bart could not finish his speech; “no, I don’t. The savage creatures came upon him sudden, or they knocked him over with a bullet, and he has died like an Indian warrior should.”
“No,” said a sharp voice behind them; and the interpreter stood there with flashing eyes gazing angrily at the speakers. “No,” he cried again, “the Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth is too strong for the miserable Apaché. He will come back. They could not kill a warrior like that.”
“Well, I hope you’re right, Mr Interpreter,” growled Joses. “I hope you are right, but I shall not believe it till I see him come.”
There was no time for further conversation, the approach of the enemies being imminent. On the one side, far out on the plain, were scattered bodies of the Apachés, evidently in full war-paint, riding about in some kind of evolution; and, as the Doctor could see with his glass, for the most part armed with spears.
Some of the men bore the strong short bow that had been in use among them from time immemorial, and these could be made out by the thick quiver they had slung over their backs. But, generally speaking, each Indian carried a good serviceable rifle, pieces of which they could make deadly use.
At present there seemed to be no intention of making an immediate attack, the Indians keeping well out in the plain beyond the reach of rifle-ball, though every now and then they gathered together, and as if at the word of command, swept over the ground like a whirlwind, and seemed bent upon charging right up to the mountain.
This, however, they did not do, but turned off each time and rode back into the plain.
“Why do they do that, Joses?” said Bart, eagerly.
“To see all they can of our defences, my lad. They’ll come on foot at last like the others are doing, though I don’t think they’ll manage a very great deal this time.”
For the party from the canyon, now swollen to nearly fifty men, were slowly approaching from the direction of the chimney, and making use of every tuft, and bush, and rock, affording Bart a fine view from the gallery of the clever and cunning means an Indian will adopt to get within shot of an enemy.
They had crept on and on till they were so near that from the hiding-place in the gallery which protected the cattle Joses could have shot them one by one as they came along, the men being quite ignorant of the existence of such a defence, as nothing was visible from the face of the rock.
“I shan’t fire so long as they don’t touch the horses or the cattle,” said Joses, “though perhaps I ought to, seeing how they have killed our best friend. Somehow, though, I don’t feel to like shooting a man behind his back as it were. If they were firing away at us the thing would be different. I could fire them it back again then pretty sharply, I can tell you!”
Joses soon had occasion to use his rifle, for, finding themselves unmolested, the Indians took advantage of every bit of cover they could find; and when this ceased, and there was nothing before them but a patch of open plain, they suddenly darted forward right up to the cattle corral, the tracks of the animals going to and fro plainly telling them the entrance, as the odour did the men who had crept up by night.
Reaching this, they made a bold effort to get an opening big enough for the cattle to be driven out; but without waiting for orders, the Indians in the rock gallery opened fire, and Joses and Bart caught the infection, the latter feeling a fierce kind of desire to avenge his friend the Beaver.
The rifle-shots acted like magic, sending the Apachés back to cover, where they began to return the fire briskly enough, though they did no more harm than to flatten their bullets, some of which dropped harmlessly into the rifle-pits, and were coolly appropriated by the Beaver’s followers for melting down anew.
“Don’t shoot, my lads,” said Joses before long; “it is only wasting ammunition. They are too well under cover. Let them fire away as long as they like, and you can pick up the lead as soon as they are gone.”
The interpreter told his fellows Joses’ words, and they ceased firing without a moment’s hesitation, and crouched there with their white friends, listening to the loud crack of the Apachés’ rifles, and the almost simultaneous fat! of the bullet against the rock.
Not a man in the gallery was injured in the slightest degree, while, as soon as he had got over a sort of nervous feeling that was the result of being shot at without the excitement of being able to return the fire, Bart lay watching the actions of the Apachés, and the senseless way in which they kept on firing at the spots where they fancied that their enemies might be.
The cover they had made for was partly scrubby brush and partly masses of stone lying singly in the plain, and it was curious to watch an Indian making his attack. First the barrel of his rifle would be protruded over some rugged part of the stone, then very slowly a feather or two would appear, and then, if the spot was very closely watched, a narrow patch of brown forehead and a glancing
eye could be seen. Then where the eye had appeared was shut out by the puff of white smoke that suddenly spirted into the air; and as it lifted, grew thin, and died away, Bart could see that the barrel of the rifle had gone, and its owner was no doubt lying flat down behind the piece of rock, which looked as if no Indian had been near it for years.
Five minutes later the muzzle of the rifle would slowly appear from quite a different part, and so low down that it was evident the Apaché was lying almost upon his face. This time perhaps Bart would note that all at once a little patch of dry grass would appear, growing up as it were in a second, as the Indian balanced it upon the barrel of his piece, making it effectually screen his face, while it was thin and open enough for him to take aim at the place from whence he had seen flashes of fire come.
Bart saw a score of such tricks as this, and how a patch of sage-brush, that looked as if it would not hide a prairie dog began to send out flashes of fire and puffs of smoke, telling plainly enough that there was an Indian safely ensconced therein.
The Apachés’ attitudes, too, excited his wonder, for they fired face downwards, lying on their sides or their backs, and always from places where there had been no enemy a minute before; while, when he was weary of watching these dismounted men at their ineffective toil, there were their friends out in the plain, who kept on swooping down after leaving their spears stuck in the earth a mile away. They would gallop to within easy range, and then turning their horses’ heads, canter along parallel with the mountain, throw themselves sidewise on the flank of their horse farthest from the place attacked, take aim and fire beneath the animal’s neck, their own bodies being completely hidden by the horse. It is almost needless to say that the shots they fired never did any harm, the position, the bad aim, and the motion of the horse being sufficient to send the bullets flying in the wildest way, either into the plain or high up somewhere on the face of the rock.
All at once this desultory, almost unresisted attack came to an end, as a fresh body of Indians cantered up; many of the latter leading horses, to which the attacking party from the canyon now made their way; and just at sundown the whole body galloped off, without so much as giving the beleaguered ones a farewell shot.
Bart watched them go off in excellent order right away out into the plain, the orange rays of the setting sun seeming to turn the half-nude figures into living bronze. Then the desert began to grow dim, the sky to darken, a few stars to peep out in the pale grey arch, and after a party had been deputed to keep watch, this intermission in the attack was seized upon as the time for making a hearty meal, the sentries not being forgotten.
“And now, Bart,” said the Doctor, “I shall keep the gate myself to-night with half a dozen men. I should like you and Joses to watch in the gallery once more with the Beaver’s men. These Apachés will be back again to-night to try and drive off the capital prize, if they could get it, of our cattle.”
“Very good, sir,” said Bart, cheerily; “I’ll watch.”
“So will I,” growled Joses.
“I wish you had the Beaver to help you. Poor fellow!” said the Doctor, sadly; “his was a wonderful eye. The interpreter will become chief now, I suppose.”
“Perhaps so, sir,” said Bart; “but he says that the Beaver is not dead, but will come back.”
“I would he spoke the truth,” said the Doctor, sadly. “The poor fellow died that we might be saved, like a hero. But there, we have no time for repining. Let us get well into our places before dark. Joses, can you be a true prophet?” he added.
“What about, master?” said the frontiersman.
“And tell me when I may be allowed to mine my silver in peace?”
“No, master, I’m not prophet enough for that. If you killed off all these Injun, you might do it for a time, but ’fore long a fresh lot would have sprung up, and things would be as bad as ever. Seems to me finding silver’s as bad as keeping cattle. Come along, Master Bart. I wish we had some of them salmon we speared.”
“Never mind the salmon,” said Bart, smiling; “we escaped with our lives;” and leading the way, they were soon ensconced in their places, watching the darkness creep over the plain like a thick veil, while the great clusters of stars came out and shone through the clear air till the sky was like frosted gold.
“Do you think the Apachés will come again to-night?” said Bart, after an hour’s silence.
“Can’t say, my lad. No, I should say. Yes, I should say,” he whispered back; “and there they are.”
As he spoke, he levelled his rifle at the first of two dusky figures that had appeared out in the plain, rising as it were out of the earth; but before he could fire, there was a hand laid upon his shoulder, and another raised the barrel of his piece.
“Treachery!” shouted Joses. “Bart, Master Bart, quick—help!”
There was a fierce struggle for a few moments, and then Joses loosened his hold and uttered an exclamation full of vexed impatience.
“It’s all right, Master Bart,” he cried. “Here, give us your hand, old Speak English,” he added, clapping the interpreter on the shoulder, “it’s of no use for us English to think of seeing like you, Injun.”
“What does all this mean, Joses?” whispered Bart, excitedly, for it seemed marvellous that two Indians should be allowed to come up to their stronghold unmolested.
“Why, don’t you see, my lad,” cried Joses, “Beaver and his chap arn’t dead after all. There they are down yonder; that’s them.”
Bart leaped up, and forgetful of the proximity of enemies, waved his cap and shouted: “Beaver, ahoy! hurrah!”
The two Indians responded with a cheery whoop, and ran up to the rocks, while Bart communicated the news to the Doctor and his fellow-guardians of the gate, where the lad pushed himself to the front, so as to be the first to welcome the chief back to their stronghold—a welcome the more warm after the belief that had been current since his non-return.
The Doctor’s grasp was so friendly that the chief seemed almost moved, and nodding quietly in his dignified way, he seated himself in silence to partake of the refreshments pressed upon him by his friends.
“The Apaché dogs must live longer and learn more before they can teach the Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth,” said the interpreter scornfully to Joses.
“I’m very glad of it,” said the latter, heartily. “I hate Injun, but somehow I don’t hate the Beaver and you, old Speak English, half—no, not a quarter—so much as I do some of ’em. I say, how could you tell in the dark that it was the Beaver?”
“Speak English has eyes,” said the Indian, accepting the nickname Joses gave him without a moment’s hesitation. “Speak English uses his eyes. They see in the dark, like a puma or panther, as much as yours see in the sunshine.”
“Well, I suppose they do,” said Joses, with a sigh. “I used to think, too, that I could see pretty well.”
They were back now in the gallery, keeping a steady watch out towards the plain, Bart being with them, and all were most anxiously waiting till the Beaver and his companion should come; for they were steadily endeavouring to make up for a very long fast to an extent that would astound an Englishman who saw a half-starved Indian eating for the first time. Joses and Bart made no scruple about expressing their wonder as to how it was that the Beaver had managed to escape; but the interpreter and his fellows hazarded no conjecture whatever. They took it for granted that their clever chief would be sure to outwit the Apachés, and so it had proved.
At last the Beaver came gliding softly into their midst, taking his place in the watch as if nothing whatever had happened; and in reply to Bart’s eager inquiries, he first of all raised himself up and took a long and searching survey of the plain.
This done, he drew the interpreter’s attention to something that had attracted his own notice, and seemed to ask his opinion. Then the Indian changed his position, and sheltering his eyes from the starlight, also took a long searching look, ending by subsiding into his place with a long, low ejacula
tion that ended like a sigh.
“That means it is all right,” whispered Joses.
“Yes; all right,” said the Beaver, turning his dark face toward them, and showing his white teeth, as if pleased at being able to comprehend their speech.
“Then now tell us, Beaver, how it was you managed to get away.”
Without following the chief’s halting delivery of his adventures in English, it is sufficient to say that he and his follower kept the Apachés back as they made attempt after attempt to ascend the chimney, shooting several, and so maddening the rest that they forgot their usual cautious methods of approach, and at last gathered together, evidently meaning to make a headlong rush.
This, the Beaver knew, meant that he and his man must be overpowered or shot down before they could reach the pathway of the natural fort, so cunning was brought to bear to give them time.
He knew that the Apachés would be sure to spend some few minutes in firing, partly to distract their enemies and partly to give them the cover of abundant smoke for their approach before they made their final rush; and taking off his feather head-gear, he secured it with a couple of stones so near the top of the rock which sheltered him and his companion that the eagle plumes could be seen by the Apachés as they gathered below.
His companion did the same, and as soon as this was done, they broke away from their hiding-place, and ran a few yards over the soft, sandy soil at the edge of the patch of forest, to some rocks, making deep impressions with their moccasins. Then, taking a few bounds along the hard rock, they found a suitable place, and there the Beaver bent down, his follower leaped upon his shoulders, and he walked quickly backward into the forest.
“And so made only one trail!” cried Bart, excitedly.
“And that one coming from the trees if the Apachés should find it,” said Joses, grinning. “Well, you are a clever one, Beaver, and no mistake.”
To put the chiefs words in plain English:
“We had only just got into cover when we heard the firing begin very sharply, and knowing that there was not a moment to lose, we backed slowly in among the trees till it grew stony, and our moccasins made no sign, and then my young man stepped down, and we crept from cover to cover, stopping to listen to the yelling and howling of the dogs, when they found only our feathers; and then we seemed to see them as they rushed off over the plain, meaning to catch us before we were in safety. But the dogs are like blind puppies. They have no sense. They could not find our trail. They never knew that we were behind them in the forest; and there we hid, making ourselves a strong place on the edge of the canyon, where we could wait until they had gone; and when at last they had gone, and all was safe, we came on, and we are here.”
The Silver Canyon Page 22