“How is it, Joses?” asked Bart one day, as they two were keeping guard by the gate. “One would think that the Indians would feel it more than any one else.”
“Well, yes, my lad, one would think so; but don’t you see how it is? An Indian takes these things coolly, for this reason; his horse is stolen to-day, to-morrow his turn will come, and he’ll carry off perhaps a dozen horses belonging to some one else.”
Their task was easy, for the Apachés seemed to have forsaken them in spite of the Beaver’s prophecy, and several days went by in peace, not a sign being discovered of the enemy. The little colony worked hard at getting silver, and this proved to be so remunerative, that there was no more murmuring about the loss of the cattle and horses; but all the same, Bart saw that the Doctor went about in a very moody spirit, for he knew that matters could not go on as they were. Before long they must have fresh stores, and it was absolutely necessary for communications to be opened up with Lerisco if they were to exist at the mountain.
“I don’t know what is to be done, Bart,” the Doctor said one day. “I cannot ask the Indians to go without horses, and if a message is not conveyed to the governor asking him for help, the time will come, and is not far distant, when we shall be in a state of open revolution, because the men will be starving.”
“Not so bad as that, sir,” cried Bart.
“Yes, my dear boy, it is as bad as that I begin to repent of coming upon this silver expedition, for I am very helpless here with these wretched savages to mar all my plans.”
It was the very next morning that, after being on guard at the gate all night, Bart was thinking of the times when, for the sake of protecting the cattle, they had kept guard in the gallery over the corral and by the cavern stable, when, out in the bright sunshine at the foot of the mountain, he saw a sight which made him rub his eyes and ask himself whether he was dreaming.
For there, calmly cropping what herbage he could find, was his old favourite who had carried him so often and so well—Black Boy.
“He must have escaped,” cried Bart excitedly, “or else it is a trap to get us to go out, and the Indians are waiting for us.”
With this idea in his mind he called Joses and the Beaver, showing them the little horse, and they both agreeing that it was no trap or plan on the Indians’ part, Bart eagerly ran out and called the docile little steed, which came trotting up and laid its soft muzzle in his hand.
“If he could only have coaxed the others into coming with him,” said Bart, “we should have been all right;” and leading his favourite up to the gateway, he coaxed it to enter and climb carefully up over the rugged stones till it was well in a state of safety, for he felt that he dared not risk leaving it outside.
It was almost absurd to see the curious way in which the little horse placed one foot before another, pawing at the road to make sure of its being safe before he trusted it and planted it firmly down, and so on with the others; but Bart’s word seemed to give him confidence, and step by step he climbed up till he was in the spot where his master intended him to stay, when he gave a loud snort as if of relief, and stood perfectly still while he was haltered to a peg.
* * *
Chapter Thirty Seven.
A wild Night-ride.
“Yes, Bart,” said the Doctor, “we have a horse now for a messenger, but I dare not send you; and if you lent Black Boy to the Beaver and sent him, I am sure the governor would never respond to my appeal for help. I should be doubtful even if I sent Joses.”
“Black Boy would not let Joses mount him, sir,” replied Bart; “he never would.”
“I dare not send you,” said the Doctor again.
“Why not, sir? I could find my way,” replied Bart excitedly. “Trust me, and I will go and tell the governor such a tale that you will see he will send us a squadron or two of lancers, and horses and cattle for our help.”
“I do not like sending you, Bart,” said the Doctor again, shaking his head. “No, we will wait and see how matters turn out.”
The silver-mining went on merrily, and universal satisfaction was felt by the people, who were too busy to think of the rate at which provisions were failing; but the Doctor thought of it deeply, and he knew that help must be sent for if they were to exist.
They had made two or three excursions into the canyon and brought up large quantities of salmon, and what was dearer to the hearts of all, large pieces of virgin silver; and after the last excursion it had been determined to risk the coming of the Indians, and work the rich deposits of silver below, when, the very next morning at daybreak, the Beaver announced the coming of the Apachés.
“And now,” he said quietly to Bart and Joses, “the Beaver’s young men will get back many horses.”
“Yes, I thought that,” said Joses, “and I’m willing; but take care of yourselves, my lads; there is danger in the task.”
The Beaver nodded and smiled and went his way, while Bart joined the Doctor, who was eagerly watching the coming savages as they rode slowly across the distant plains.
“Bart,” he said at last, shutting up his glass, “you are very young.”
Bart nodded.
“But I find myself compelled to send you on a very dangerous errand.”
“To ride on to Lerisco, sir?” said Bart promptly. “I’m ready, sir; when shall I go?”
“Not so fast,” said the Doctor, smiling at the lad’s bravery and eagerness. “You must make some preparations first.”
“Oh, that will soon be done, sir; a few pieces of dried bison-meat and a bag of meal, and I shall be ready.”
“I was thinking,” said the Doctor, “that I ought to have sent you off before the Indians came, but I have since thought that it is better as it is, for we know now where our enemies are. If I had sent you yesterday, you might have ridden right into their midst.”
“That’s true, sir. But when shall I go?”
“If I send you, Bart, it must be to-night, with a letter for the governor, one which, I am sure, he will respond to, when he hears from you of the enormous wealth of the canyon and the mine. Now go and consult with the Beaver as to the track you had better follow so as to avoid the Indians. I must take a few precautions against attack, for they seem to be coming straight on, and I sadly fear that they mean to invest us now.”
Bart found the Beaver, who was watching his natural foes, the Apachés, along with Joses, as they talked together in a low tone.
“I am going to ride back to Lerisco for help,” said Bart suddenly.
“You are, my lad?” cried Joses. “I shall go too.”
“But you have no horse, Joses,” said Bart smiling, and the rough fellow smote himself heavily on the chest.
“It is good,” said the Beaver in his calm way. “My young men would like to ride with you, but it cannot be.”
“Tell me, Beaver, how I had better go so as to escape the Apachés.”
“The young chief must ride out as soon as it is dark, and go straight for the lake, and round its end, then straight away. The Apaché dogs will not see him; if they do, they will not catch him in the dark. Ugh!” he ejaculated with a look of contempt, “the Apaché dogs are no match for the young chief.”
Bart could not help feeling very strangely excited as the evening approached, the more especially that the Apachés had come close on several hundred strong, and they could see them from the rock lead their horses down into the lake for water, and then remount them again, while a couple of small parties remained on foot, and it seemed possible that they intended to make an attack upon the fortress, for they were all well-armed.
“I shouldn’t wonder if we have a bad storm to-night, Master Bart,” said Joses, as the sun set in a band of curious coppery-coloured clouds, while others began to form rapidly all over the face of the heavens, with a strangely weird effect. “You won’t go if the weather’s bad, I s’pose, my lad?”
“Indeed but I shall,” said Bart excitedly. “If I am to go, I shall go.”
The
Doctor came up then and seemed torn by two opinions, speaking out frankly to the lad upon the point.
“I don’t want to send you, Bart, and yet I do,” he said, rather excitedly. “It seems an act of cruelty to send you forth on such a mission, but it is my only hope.”
“I’ll go, sir,” cried Bart, earnestly. “I’ll go for your sake and Maude’s.”
“Thank you, my brave lad,” cried the Doctor with emotion, “but it is going to be a terrible night.”
“The safer for our purpose, sir,” replied Bart. “There, sir, I won’t tell a lie, and say I do not feel timid, because I do; but I mean to mount and ride off boldly, and you’ll see I’ll bring back plenty of help, and as quickly as I can.”
“But wait another night, my lad; it will be finer perhaps. There is no moon, and if it clouds over, you will never find your way to the lake.”
“Black Boy will, sir, I know,” said Bart laughing. “I am keeping him without water on purpose.”
“A clever idea, Bart,” said the Doctor.
“Yes, sir,” said Bart, “but it is not mine. It was the Beaver’s notion. Those dismounted Indians are coming right in, sir, I think,” he said.
“Yes, without doubt, Bart,” exclaimed the Doctor, watching them. “Yes, they mean to get somewhere close up. There will be an attack to-night.”
“Then I shall gallop away from it,” said Bart laughing, “for I am afraid of fighting.”
Two hours later, Black Boy, already saddled and bridled, a good blanket rolled up on his saddle-bow, and a bag of meal and some dried bison-flesh attached to his pad behind, was led down the rugged way to the gate, which had been opened out ready. Joses and the Indians were on either side ready with their rifles as the lad mounted in the outer darkness and silence; a few farewell words were uttered, and he made his plans as to the direction in which he meant to ride, which was pretty close in to the side of the mountain for about a quarter of a mile, and then away at right angles for the end of the lake.
“Good-bye, my boy, and God be with you,” whispered the Doctor, pressing one hand.
“Take care of yourself, dear lad,” whispered Joses, pressing the other, and then giving way to the chief, who bent forward, saying, in his low, grave voice—
“The Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth would like to ride beside the brave young chief, but the Great Spirit says it must not be. Go; you can laugh at the Apaché dogs.”
Bart could not answer, but pressed his steed’s sides, and the brave little animal would have gone off through the intense darkness at a gallop; but this was not what Bart wished, and checking him, Black Boy ambled over the soft ground, avoiding the rocks and tall prickly cacti with wonderful skill, while Bart sat there, his ears attent and nostrils distended, listening for the slightest sound of danger, as the Indians might be swarming round him for aught he knew; and as he thought it possible that one of the dismounted bodies might be creeping up towards the gateway close beneath the rocks, he found himself hoping that the party had gone in and were blocking up the entrance well with stones.
The darkness was terrible, and still there was a strange lurid aspect above him, showing dimly the edge of the top of the mountain. That there was going to be a storm he felt sure—everything was so still, the heat was so great, and the strange oppression of the air foretold its coming; but he hoped to be far on his way and beyond the Indians ere it came, for the flashes of lightning might betray him to the watchful eyes of the enemy, and then he knew it meant a ride for life, as it would not take the Apachés long to mount.
All at once, as he was riding cautiously along, his rifle slung behind him, and his head bent forward to peer into the darkness, there was a sharp flash, and what seemed to be a great star of fire struck the rock, shedding a brilliant light which revealed all around for a short distance, as if a light had suddenly appeared from an opening in the mountain; and then, close in beneath where the electric bolt had struck, he could see a knot of about a dozen Indians, who uttered a tremendous yell as they caught sight of him, making Black Boy tear off at full speed, while the next moment there was a deafening crash, and it seemed to Bart that a huge mass of the mountain-side had fallen crumbling down.
That one flash which struck the mountain seemed as if it had been the signal for the elements to commence their strife, for directly after the heavens were in a blaze. Forked lightning darted here and there; the dense clouds opened and shut, as if to reveal the wondrously vivid glories beyond, and the thunder kept up a series of deafening peals that nearly drove the little steed frantic.
As to his direction, Bart was ignorant. All he knew was that he ought to have ridden some distance farther before turning off, but that awful flash had made the cob turn and bound away at once; and as far as the rider could make out, they were going straight for the lake with the dismounted Indians running and yelling madly behind.
At least that was what he fancied, for, as he listened, all he could hear was the deafening roar of the thunder, and the sharp crackling sound of the lightning as it descended in rugged streaks, or ran along the ground, one flash showing him the lake right ahead, and enabling him to turn a little off to the left, so as to pass its end.
He knew now that the pealing thunder would effectually prevent the Indians from hearing him, but the lightning was a terrible danger when it lit up the plains; and as he peered ahead, he fully expected to see a body of horsemen riding to cut him off. But no; he went on through the storm at a good swinging gallop, having his steed well now in hand, a few pats on its arching neck and some encouraging words chasing away its dread of the lightning, which grew more vivid and the thunder more awful as he rode on.
After a time he heard a low rushing, murmuring sound in the intervals when the thunder was not bellowing, so that it seemed to rock the very foundations of the earth. It was a strange low murmur, that sounded like the galloping of horsemen at a great distance; and hearing this, Bart went off at a stretching gallop, crashing through bushes and tall fleshy plants, some of which pierced the stout leggings that he wore, giving him painful thrusts from their thorns, till, all at once, the rushing sound as of horsemen ceased, and he realised the fact that it was the noise of a storm of rain sweeping across the plain, borne upon the wind to fall almost in sheets of water, though he passed quite upon its outskirts, and felt only a few heavy pattering drops.
He had passed the end of the lake in safety, and was beginning to be hopeful that he would escape the Indians altogether, but still he could not understand how it was that the little dismounted body of men had not spread the alarm, for he knew that they must have seen him, the ball of light that struck the rock having lit up everything, and he knew that he seemed to be standing out in the middle of a regular glare of light; but after the deafening crash that followed he had heard no more—no distant shouts—no war-whoop. They would be sure to communicate with their nearest scouts, and their bodies of mounted men would have begun to scour the plain in spite of the storm; for he could not think that the Apachés, who were constantly exposed to the warfare of the elements, would be too much alarmed to attempt the pursuit.
“They would not be more cowardly than I am,” he said with a half laugh, as he galloped on, with Black Boy going easily, and with a long swinging stride that carried him well over the plain, but whether into safety or danger he could not tell.
All he knew was that chance must to a great extent direct his steps, and so he galloped on with the rain left behind and a soft sweet breeze playing upon his face, the oppression of the storm seeming to pass away, while it was plain enough that the thunder and lightning were momentarily growing more distant, as if he were riding right out of it towards where the air and sky were clearer. Before long, he felt sure, the stars would be out, and he could see his way, instead of galloping on in this reckless chance manner, leaving everything to his horse.
“I can’t quite understand it,” said Bart; “there must have been some mistake. Of course, I see now. I was riding straight along under the m
ountain-side when Black Boy swerved almost right round and went off in another direction: that and the darkness threw them off the track, but they will be sure to strike my trail in the morning. Black Boy’s hoof-prints will be plain enough in the soft earth where the rain has not washed them away, and they’ll come on after me like a pack of hungry wolves. How I wish I knew whether I was going right! It would be so valuable now to get right away before morning.”
Bart was getting well ahead, but not in the best direction. He had, however, no occasion to fear present pursuit, for the knot of dismounted Indians whom he had seen close under the rock when the lightning fell lay crushed and mangled amongst a pile of shattered rocks which the electric discharge had sent thundering down, while as Bart was cantering on, full of surmises, where not a drop of rain was falling, the storm seemed to have chosen the mountain as its gathering point, around which the lightning was playing, the thunder crashing, and the water streaming down, so that in places regular cascades swept over the sides of the rock, and tore away like little rivers over the plain.
For the time being, then, Bart had nothing to fear from these unfortunate Apachés; but, as the storm lulled, and another little body of dismounted Indians crept cautiously up to the fallen rocks, their object being to surprise the guards at the gateway, they learned from one of their dying friends of the appearance of the young chief upon his little black horse, and that he had gone right off over the plain.
The sequel to this was that the dead and dying soon were borne away, and a party was formed at daybreak to take steps that would have made Bart had he known, feel terribly uncomfortable, instead of growing hour by hour more confident and at his ease.
* * *
Chapter Thirty Eight.
Hunted by Indians.
There’s something wonderfully inspiriting in sunshine—something that makes the heart leap and the blood course through the veins, raising the spirits, and sending trouble along with darkness far away into the background.
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