Just then a rifle-shot rang out in their front. It was fired by the scout they were racing to join.
It was a long shot, but effective, for an Apaché pony fell headlong down, and a couple more went over it, causing a slight diversion in their favour—so much, trifling as it was, that the Beaver and his party gained a few yards, and instead of galloping right down upon them, the Apachés began to edge off a little in the same direction as that in which the fugitives were rushing.
And still they tore on, while at last the Apachés edged off more and more, till they were racing on about a hundred yards to their left, afraid to close in lest their prey should get too far ahead; and they were all tearing on in this fashion when the last scout was reached, already in motion to retreat now and lose no time, setting spurs to his pony as the Beaver passed, and then came the final gallop to the gateway for life or death.
For now came the question—would the firing of their friends check the Apachés, or would they press on in deadly strife to the bitter end?
“Ride close up to the rock below Joses,” shouted the Beaver; “then jump off on the right side of your horse, turn and fire;” and with these words, spoken in broken English, ringing in his ears, Bart felt his spirits rise, and uttering a cheer full of excitement, he rose in his stirrups and galloped on.
The endurance of the little horses was wonderful, but all the same the peril was of a terrible nature; for the ground which they were forced to take close in under the perpendicular mountain walls was strewn with blocks of stone, some of a large size, that had to be skirted, while those of a smaller size were leaped by the hardy little animals, and Bart felt that the slightest swerve or a fall meant death of the most horrible kind.
Twice over his cob hesitated at a monstrous piece of rock. And each time Bart nearly lost his seat; but he recovered it and raced on.
Faster and faster they swept along, the Indian followers of the Beaver urging their horses on by voice and action, while the yells of the Apachés acted like so many goads to the frightened beasts.
Would they hear them on the rocks? Would Joses be ready? Would the Doctor give their enemies a salutation? Would they never reach the gateway?
These and a dozen other such questions passed like lightning through Bart’s brain in those moments of excitement; for the rocky gateway, that had seemed so near to the first scout when they set out that morning and cantered off, now appeared at an interminable distance, and as if it would never be reached; while the Apachés, as if dreading that their prey might escape, were now redoubling their efforts, as Bart could see when he glanced over his left shoulder.
But on the little band of fugitives swept, so close together that their horses almost touched; and, unless some unforeseen accident occurred—a slip, a stumble, or a fatal shot—they would soon be in comparative safety.
The Beaver saw this, and, forgetting his ordinary calm, he rose in his stirrups, half turned and shook his rifle at the great body of Apachés, yelling defiantly the while, and drawing a storm of vengeful cries from the pursuers that rose loud above the thunder of the horses’ hoofs.
Another two hundred yards, and the gateway would be reached, but it seemed as if that short distance would never be passed; while now the Apachés, taking advantage of the fact that their prey was compelled to swerve to the left, began to close in, bringing themselves in such close proximity that Bart could see the fierce, vindictive faces, the flashing eyes, and eager clutching hands, ready to torture them should they not escape.
Another fierce race for the last hundred yards, with the Apachés closing in more and more, and the fate of the fugitives seemed sealed, when, just as the enemy gave a fierce yell of triumph, rising in their stirrups to lash their panting little steeds into an accelerated pace, the rock suddenly seemed to flash, and a sharp sputtering fire to dart from the zigzag path. Some of the pursuing horses and their riders fell, others leaped or stumbled over them; and as Bart and his companions drew rein close in beneath the gallery, forming a breastwork of their blown horses, and began firing with such steadiness as their excitement would allow, a regular volley flashed from above their heads, and Joses and his companions followed it up with a triumphant shout.
The effect was marvellous,—the great body of Apachés turning as upon a pivot, and sweeping off at full gallop over the plain, leaving their dead and wounded behind, and pursued by many a deadly shot.
This was the result of their surprise, however; for before they had gone far, they turned and charged down again, yelling furiously.
“Don’t fire till they’re close in, Master Bart,” Joses shouted from above; “they’ve come back for their wounded. Give ’em some more to take.”
Joses was right, for the charge was not pushed home, the savages galloping only sufficiently near to come to the help of their friends; and doubtless they would have carried off their dead, but they encountered so fierce a fire from the rock that they were glad to retreat, leaving several of their number motionless upon the plain.
Then they rode on right away, and Bart threw himself down, completely overcome, to lie there panting and exhausted, till the Doctor and Joses came and led him up, the Beaver and his followers staying behind to safely enclose the cavern stable with stones, after they had placed their own ponies and Black Boy within.
* * *
Chapter Thirty Five.
How Joses fed the Cattle.
The Apachés seemed to have had so severe a lesson that they kept right away in the plain for the rest of the day; and as it appeared to be safe, the Indians went out with the Beaver to hide the ghastly relics of the attack, returning afterwards to the Doctor to sit in council upon a very important point, and that was what they were to do about the cattle and horses.
This was a terrible question; for while the occupants of the rock fortress could very well manage to hold out for a considerable time if they were beleaguered, having an ample store of meal and dried meat, with an abundant supply of water, the horses and cattle must have food, and to have driven them out to the lake grazing-grounds meant to a certainty that either there must be a severe battle to save them or the Apachés would sweep them off.
“The Beaver and his men will watch and fight for the cattle,” said the chief, quietly.
“I know that, my brave fellow; but if they were yours, would you let them go out to graze?” said the Doctor.
“No,” replied the chief, smiling; “because the Apaché dogs would carry all away.”
“Well,” said the Doctor, “we must not risk it. Let us go out and cut as much grass as we can to-day, for the poor brutes are in great distress.”
The chief nodded, and said that it was good; and while strict watch was kept from the rock, three parts of the men were hurried down to the nearest point where there was an abundance of buffalo-grass really in a state of naturally-made hay, and bundles of this were cut and carried to the starving cattle.
It was a terribly arduous job in the hot sun; and it made the Doctor think that if matters went on in this way, the silver procured from the mine would be very dearly bought.
Even with all their efforts there was but a very scanty supply obtained, and of that Joses declared the mules got by far the best share, biting and kicking at the horses whenever they approached, and driving the more timid quite away.
Strict watch was kept that night, but no Apachés came, and as soon as it was light the next morning the horizon was swept in the hope of finding that they were gone; but no such good fortune attended the silver-miners, and instead, to the Doctor’s chagrin, of their being able to continue their toil of obtaining the precious metal, it was thought advisable to go out and cut more fodder for the starving beasts.
The next day came, and no Apachés were visible.
“We can drive the cattle out to-day, Beaver,” said the Doctor; “the enemy are gone.”
“The Apaché dogs are only hiding,” replied the chief, “and will ride down as soon as the cattle are feeding by the lake.”
The Doctor uttered an impatient ejaculation and turned to Joses.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“Beaver’s right, master.”
“Well, perhaps he is; but we can’t go on like this,” cried the Doctor, impatiently. “No silver can be dug if the men are to be always cutting grass. Here! you and Harry and a dozen greasers, drive out half the cattle to feed. Bart, you take the glass, and keep watch from high up the path. The signal of danger directly you see the Indians is the firing of your piece. If you hear that fired, Joses, you are to drive in the cattle directly, and we will cover your return.”
“Good!” said Joses; and without a word he summoned Harry and a dozen men, going off directly after through the gateway to the corral, saying to Bart, as he went, “Of course, I do as master tells me, but you keep a sharp look-out, Master Bart, or we shan’t get them bullocks and cows back.”
Bart promised, and took his station, rifle across his knee and glass in hand, to look out for danger, while before he had been there long the Beaver came and sat beside him, making Bart hurriedly apologise for the risk he had caused on the day of their adventure, he never having been alone since with the chief.
“Master Bart, brave young chief,” was all the Indian said; and then he sat silently gazing out over the plain, while no sooner were the cattle released than they set off lowing towards the pastures at a long lumbering gallop, Joses and his followers having hard work to keep up with them, for they needed no driving.
In less than half an hour they were all munching away contentedly enough, with Joses and his men on the far side to keep the drove from going too far out towards the plain, and then all at once the Beaver started up, pointing right away.
“Apaché dogs!” he shouted.
Bart brought the glass to bear, and saw that the chief was right.
In an instant he had cocked and fired his piece, giving the alarm, when the garrison ran to their places ready to cover the coming in of the cattle-drivers and their herd, Bart, seeing that Joses had taken the alarm, and with his men was trying to drive the feeding animals back.
But the Doctor had not calculated upon hunger and bovine obstinacy. The poor brutes after much fasting were where they could eat their fill, and though Joses and his men drove them from one place, they blundered back to another, lowing, bellowing, and getting more and more excited, but never a step nearer to their corral.
And all this while the Apachés were coming on at full speed, sweeping over the level plain like a cloud.
The Doctor grew frantic.
“Quick!” he cried; “we must go out to help Joses and his men. No, it would be madness. Good heavens! what a mistake!”
“Let me go with the Beaver and his men to his help,” cried Bart excitedly.
“My dear Bart, the Indians will be upon them before you could reach the horses, let alone saddle and bridle and mount.”
“It is true,” said the Beaver, sternly. “Chief Joses must fight the Apaché dogs himself.”
Bart knew they could do nothing, and just then he saw that the Mexican greasers had left the cattle, and were coming at full speed as hard as they could run towards the shelter of the rock.
“The cattle must go,” cried the Doctor, bitterly. “It is my fault. Why does not Joses leave them? Harry is running with the others.”
“Because poor Joses is too brave a fellow,” cried Bart in despair. “I must go to his help; I must indeed,” he cried piteously.
“Young chief Bart must stay,” said the Beaver, sternly, as he seized the lad’s arm. “He would be killed. Let chief Joses be. He is wise, and can laugh at the Apaché dogs.”
It was an exciting scene, the Mexican labourers fleeing over the plain, the cattle calmly resuming their grazing, and the cloud of Indian horsemen tearing along like a whirlwind.
The occupants of the rock were helpless, and the loss of the cattle was forgotten in the peril of Joses, though murmurs long and deep were uttered by the Englishmen against him who had sent them out to graze.
In spite, too, of the terrible loss, there was something interesting and wonderfully exciting in the way in which the Apachés charged down with lowered lances, the cattle calmly grazing till they were near; then lifting up their heads in wonder, and as the Indians swooped round, they wheeled about, and went off at a gallop, but only to be cleverly headed and driven back; and then with the Apachés behind, and forming a crescent which partly enclosed the lumbering beasts, they were driven off at full speed fight away towards the plain, gradually disappearing from their owners’ eyes.
“Only half as many to feed,” said the Doctor, bitterly.
“Poor Joses!” groaned Bart with a piteous sigh.
“Chief Joses coming,” said the Beaver pointing; and to the delight of all they could see Joses in the distance, his rifle shouldered, marching quietly towards them, and evidently making himself a cigarette as he came.
Half an hour later he was in their midst.
“Couldn’t save the obstinate beasts, master,” he said quietly; “they were worse than buffler.”
“But how did you manage to escape?” cried the Doctor and Bart in a breath.
“Oh! when I see it was all over, I just crept under a bush, and waited till the Indian dogs had gone.”
“Chief Joses too wise for Apaché dog,” said the Beaver, with a calm smile. “Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth told young chief Bart so.”
“Yes,” said Bart; “and I can’t tell you how glad I am.”
“Just about as glad as I am, Master Bart,” said Joses, gruffly. “I did my best, master, and I couldn’t do no more.”
“I know, Joses,” replied the Doctor. “It was my fault; and the greasers ran away?”
“Lord, master, if we’d had five hundred thousand greasers there it would have been all the same. Nothing but a troop of horse would have brought the obstinate cattle back to their corral. You won’t send out no more?”
“No, Joses, not a hoof,” said the Doctor, gloomily; and he went to his tent on the top of the mountain to ponder upon the gloomy state of their affairs.
* * *
Chapter Thirty Six.
Another Friend comes back.
Watch was set that night as usual, but it came on so pitchy dark that nothing could be made out distinctly a yard away. Bart was with the Beaver and Joses in their old place in the gallery, fortunately well-sheltered by the rock overhead, for the rain came down in torrents, and gurgled loudly as it rushed in and out of the crevices of the rock, finding its way to the plains.
“How uneasy the cattle seem!” said Bart once, as they could be heard lowing down below in the darkness.
“’Nough to make ’em,” said Joses, with a chuckle; “they’ll have got wet through to-night, and I daresay there’ll be water enough in the stable for the horses to nearly swim.”
“What a night for the Apachés!” said Bart after a pause, as they crouched there listening to the hiss and roar of the falling waters. “Suppose they were to come; we would never see them.”
“But they wouldn’t in a night like this,” replied Joses. “Would they, Beaver?”
“Beaver don’t know. Beaver think much,” replied the chief. “He and his men would come if they wanted their enemies’ horses; but perhaps the Apachés are dogs and cowards, and would fear the rain.”
Towards morning the rain ceased, and with the rising sun the clouds cleared away, the sun shining out brilliantly; and as the Beaver strained over the stones to get a good look into the corral, he uttered a hoarse cry.
“What’s wrong?” cried Bart and Joses, starting up from their wearying cramped position.
“Cattle gone!” cried the Beaver; and a moment later, “Horses are gone!”
It was too true; for, taking advantage of the darkness and the heavy rain, the Apachés had sent in a party of their cleverest warriors, who had quietly removed the barriers of rock, and the cattle had followed their natural instinct, and gone quietly out to the last hoo
f, the horses the same, making their way down to the pastures, where, at the first breaking of day, there was a strong band of mounted men ready to drive them right away into the plain, where the Beaver pointed them out miles away, moving slowly in the bright sunshiny morning.
The alarm was given, but nothing could be done, and the Doctor looked with dismay at the lowering faces of the men who had agreed to follow his fortunes out there into the wilderness.
“You never said that we should meet with enemies like this,” said one man, threateningly. “You said you’d bring us where silver was in plenty, that was all.”
“And have I not?” cried the Doctor, sharply. “There, now, get to your work; we have plenty of food and water, and we are relieved of the care of our horses and cattle. The Apachés will not interfere with us perhaps now, and when they have gone, we must communicate with Lerisco, and get more cattle. Have we not silver enough to buy all the cattle in the province?”
This quieted the complainers, and they went quietly to their tasks, getting out the ore in large quantities, though it was, of course, impossible to touch the vein in the canyon. That had to be reserved for more peaceful times.
It almost seemed as if the Doctor was right, and that the Apachés would go away contented now; but when Bart asked the Beaver for his opinion, he only laughed grimly.
“As long as we are here they will come,” he said. “They will never stay away.”
“That’s pleasant, Joses,” said Bart; and then he began to bemoan the loss of his little favourite, Black Boy.
“Ah! it’s a bad job, my lad,” said Joses, philosophically; “but when you go out into the wilderness, you never know what’s coming. For my part, I don’t think I should ever take to silver-getting as a trade.”
It was a serious matter this loss of the horses and cattle, but somehow the Indians seemed to bear it better than the whites. Whatever they felt they kept to themselves, stolidly bearing their trouble, while the Englishmen and Mexicans never ceased to murmur and complain.
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