The Silver Canyon

by Fenn, George Manville

  As the sun rose, flooding the wild plains with heat, and Bart drew rein and looked about after his long night-ride to see that there was hardly a cloud in sight, and, better still, no sign of Indians, he uttered a cry of joy, and bent down and smoothed and patted his brave little steed, which had carried him so far and so well.

  Then he had a good look round, to see if he could make out his position, and, after a while, came to the conclusion that he was not so very far out of his way, and that by turning off a little more to the west he would soon be in the direct route.

  In patting and making much of Black Boy, Bart found that the little horse was dripping with perspiration, many, many miles running having been got over in the night; and if the journey was to be satisfactorily performed, he knew that there must be some time for rest.

  With this idea, then, Bart turned a little to the east, and rode straight for a clump of trees about a couple of miles away, a spot that promised ample herbage and shade, perhaps water, while, unseen, he could keep a good look-out over the open plain.

  The patch Bart reached was only of a few acres in extent, and it offered more than he had bargained for, there being a pleasantly clear pool of water in an open spot, while the grass was so tempting that he had hardly time to remove Black Boy’s bit, so eager was he to begin. He was soon tethered to a stout sapling, however, feeding away to his heart’s content, while, pretty well wearied out by his long night-ride, Bart sat down beneath a tree where he could have a good view of the plain over which he had ridden, and began to refresh himself, after a good draught of pure cool water, with one of the long dry strips of bison-meat that formed his store.

  Nature will have her own way. Take away from her the night’s rest that she has ordained for man’s use and refreshment, and she is sure to try and get it back. And so it was here; for as Bart sat munching there in the delicious restfulness of his position, with the soft warm breeze just playing through the leaves, the golden sunshine raining down amongst the leaves and branches in dazzling streams, while the pleasant whirr and hum of insects was mingled with the gentle crop, crop, crop of Black Boy’s teeth as he feasted on the succulent growth around, all tended to produce drowsiness, and in a short time he found himself nodding.

  Then he roused himself very angrily, telling himself that he must watch; and he swept the plain with his eyes. But, directly after, as he thought that he must hurry on, as it was a case of life and death, he was obliged to own that the more haste he exercised the less speed there would be, for his horse could not do the journey without food and rest.

  That word rest seemed to have a strange effect upon him, and he repeated it two or three times over, his hand dropping wearily at his side as he did so, and his eyes half closing while he listened to the pleasant hum of the insects all around.

  Then he started into wakefulness again, determined to watch and wait until a better time for sleep; but as he came to this determination, the sound of the insects, the soft cropping and munching noise made by Black Boy, and the pleasant breath of the morning as it came through the trees, were too sweet to be resisted, and before poor Bart could realise the fact that he was ready to doze, he was fast asleep with his head upon his breast.

  The sun grew higher and hotter, and Black Boy, who did not seem to require sleep, cropped away at the grass till he had finished all that was good within his reach, after which he made a dessert of green leaves and twigs, and then, having eaten as much as he possibly could, he stood at the end of his tether, with his head hanging down as if thinking about the past night’s storm or some other object of interest, ending by propping his legs out a little farther, and, imitating his master, going off fast asleep.

  Then the sun grew higher still, and reached the highest point before beginning to descend, and then down, down, down, all through the hot afternoon, till its light began to grow softer and more mellow, and the shadows cast by the tree-trunks went out in a different direction to that which they had taken when Bart dropped asleep.

  All at once he awoke in a fright, for something hard was thumping and pawing at his chest, and on looking up, there was Black Boy right over him, scraping and pawing at him as if impatient to go on.

  “Why, I must have been asleep,” cried Bart, catching at the horse’s head-stall and thrusting him away. “Gently, old boy; your hoofs are not very soft. You hurt.”

  He raised himself up, stretching the while.

  “How tiresome to sleep like that!” he muttered. “Why, I had not finished my breakfast, and—”

  Bart said no more, but stood there motionless staring straight before him, where the plain was now ruddy and glowing with the rays of the evening sun.

  For there, about a mile away, he could see a body of some twenty or thirty Indians coming over the plain at an easy rate, guided evidently by one on foot who ran before them with bended head, and Bart knew as well as if he had heard the words shouted in his ear that they were following him by his trail.

  There was not a moment to lose, and with trembling hands he secured the buckles of his saddle-girths, and strapped on the various little articles that formed his luggage, slung his rifle, and then leading the cob to the other side of the patch of woodland, where he would be out of sight of the Indians, he mounted, marked a spot on the horizon which would keep him in a direct line and the woodland clump as long as possible between him and his enemies, and rode swiftly off.

  The inclination was upon him to gaze back, but he knew in doing so he might swerve from the bee-line he had marked out, and he resisted the temptation, riding on as swiftly as his cob could go, and wondering all the while why it was that he had not been seen.

  If he had been with the Apachés he would have ceased to wonder, for while Bart was galloping off on the other side, his well-rested and refreshed horse going faster and faster each minute as he got into swing, the Indians began to slacken their pace. There was no doubt about the trail, they knew: it led straight into the patch of woodland; and as this afforded ample cover, they might at any moment find themselves the objects of some able rifle-firing; and as they had suffered a good deal lately in their ranks, they were extra cautious.

  The trail showed that only one fugitive was on the way, him of whom their dying comrade had spoken; but then the fugitive had made straight for this clump of trees, and how were they to know but that he expected to meet friends there, whose first volley would empty half the saddles of the little troop?

  Indians can be brave at times, but for the most part they are cowardly and extremely cautious. Naturally enough an Indian, no matter to what tribe he belongs, has a great objection to being shot at, and a greater objection to being hit. So instead of riding boldly up, and finding out that Bart had just galloped away, the Apachés approached by means of three or four dismounted men, who crept slowly from clump of brush to patch of long grass, and so on and on, till first one and then another reached the edge of the woody place, where they rested for a time, eagerly scanning each leaf and tree-trunk for an enemy at whom to fire, or who would fire at them.

  Then they crept on a little farther, and found Bart’s halting-place and the feeding-ground of the horse. Then they came by degrees upon his trail through the wood, all very fresh, and still they went on cautiously, and like men to whom a false step meant a fatal bullet-wound, while all the time their companions sat there upon the plain, keen and watchful, ready for action at a moment’s notice, and waiting the signal to come on.

  At last this came, for the advanced dismounted scouts had traced the trail to the farther edge of the wood, and seen even the deep impression made by Bart’s foot as he sprang upon his steed.

  Then the mounted Apachés came on at a great rate, dashed through the wood and came up to their friends, who triumphantly pointed to the emerging trail, and on they all went once more, one man only remaining dismounted to lead the party, while the rest followed close behind.

  This little piece of caution had given poor Bart two hours’ start, and when the Indians c
ame out of the wood, he had been a long time out of sight; but there was his plainly marked trail, and that they could follow, and meant to follow to the end.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty Nine.

  The End of the Race.

  Bart had the advantage of his enemies in this, that as long as he could keep well out of sight across the plains, he could go on as fast as his horse could gallop, while they had to cautiously track his every step. Then, too, when he came to dry, rocky, or stony portions, he took advantage thereof, for he knew that his horse’s hoof-prints would be indistinct, and sometimes disappear altogether. These portions of the trail gave the Apachés endless difficulty, but they kept on tracking him step by step, and one slip on the lad’s part would have been fatal.

  Fortune favoured him, though, and he pressed on, hitting the backward route pretty accurately, and recognising the various mountains and hills they had passed under the Beaver’s guidance; and every stride taken by the untiring little horse had its effect upon the lad, for it was one nearer to safety.

  Still it was a terrible ride, for it was only after traversing some stony plain or patch of rock that he dared draw rein and take a few hours’ rest, while his steed fed and recruited its energies as well.

  He would lie down merely meaning to rest, and then drop off fast asleep, to awake in an agony of dread, tighten his saddle-girths, and go on again at speed, gazing fearfully behind him, expecting to see the Apachés ready to spring upon him and end his career.

  But they were still, though he knew it not, far behind. All the same, though, they kept up their untiring tracking of the trail day after day till it was too dark to see, and the moment it was light enough to distinguish a footprint they were after him again.

  Such a pertinacious quest could apparently have but one result—that of the quarry of these wolves being hunted down at last.

  The days glided by, and Bart’s store of provisions held out, for he could hardly eat, only drink with avidity whenever he reached water. The terrible strain had made his face thin and haggard, his eyes bloodshot, and his hands trembled as he grasped the rein—not from fear, but from nervous excitement consequent upon the little sleep he obtained, his want of regular food, and the feeling of certainty that he was being dogged by his untiring foes.

  Sometimes to rest himself—a strange kind of rest, it may be said, and yet it did give him great relief—he would spring from Black Boy’s back, and walk by his side as he toiled up some rough slope, talking to him and encouraging him with pats of the hand, when the willing little creature strove again with all its might on being mounted; in fact, instead of having to whip and spur, Bart found more occasion to hold in his patient little steed.

  And so the time went on, till it was as in a dream that Bart recognised the various halting-places they had stayed at in the journey out, while the distance seemed to have become indefinitely prolonged. All the while, too, there was that terrible nightmare-like dread haunting him that the enemy were close behind, and scores of times some deer or other animal was magnified into a mounted Indian in full war-paint ready to bound upon his prey.

  It was a terrible journey—terrible in its loneliness as well as in its real and imaginary dangers; for there was a good deal of fancied dread towards the latter part of the time, when Bart had reached a point where the Apachés gave up their chase, civilisation being too near at hand for them to venture farther.

  On two occasions, though, the lad was in deadly peril; once when, growing impatient, the Apachés, in hunting fashion, had made a cast or two to recover the trail they had lost, galloping on some miles, and taking it up again pretty close to where Bart had been resting again somewhat too long for safety, though far from being long enough to recoup the losses he had sustained.

  The next time was under similar circumstances, the Apachés picking up the sign of his having passed over the plain close beside a patch of rising ground, where he had been tempted into shooting a prong-horn antelope, lighting a fire, and making a hearty meal, of which he stood sadly in need.

  The meal ended, a feeling of drowsiness came over the feaster, and this time Bart did not yield to it, for he felt that he must place many more miles behind him before it grew dark; so, rolling up the horse-hair lariat by which Black Boy had been tethered, once again he tightened the girths, and was just giving his final look round before mounting, congratulating himself with the thought that he had enough good roasted venison to last him for a couple more days, when his horse pricked his ears and uttered an impatient snort.

  Just at the same moment there was the heavy thud, thud, thud, of horses’ hoofs, and, without stopping to look, Bart swung himself up on his horse’s back and urged him forward with hand, heel, and voice.

  The plain before him was as level as a meadow, not a stone being in sight for miles, so that unless the cob should put his foot in some burrow, there was nothing to hinder his racing off and escaping by sheer speed.

  There was this advantage too: Black Boy had been having a good rest and feed, while the pursuers had doubtless been making a long effort to overtake him.

  The Apachés set up a furious yell as they caught sight of their prey, and urged on their horses, drawing so near before Bart could get anything like a good speed on, that they were not more than fifty yards behind, and thundering along as fast as they could urge their ponies.

  This went on for half a mile, Bart feeling as if his heart was in his mouth, and that the chances of escape were all over; but somehow, in spite of the terrible peril he was in, he thought more about the Doctor and the fate of his expedition than he did of his own. For it seemed so terrible that his old friend and guardian—one who had behaved to him almost as a father should be waiting there day after day expecting help in vain, and perhaps thinking that his messenger had failed to do his duty.

  “No, he won’t, nor Joses neither, think that of me,” muttered Bart. “I wish the Beaver were here to cheer one up a bit, as he did that other time when these bloodthirsty demons were after us.”

  “How their ponies can go!” he panted, as he turned his head to gaze back at the fierce savages, who tore along with feathers and long hair streaming behind them, as wild and rugged as the manes and tails of their ponies.

  As they saw him look round, the Apachés uttered a tremendous yell, intended to intimidate him. It was just as he had begun to fancy that Black Boy was flagging, and that, though no faster, the Indians’ ponies were harder and more enduring; but, at the sound of that yell and the following shouts of the insatiate demons who tore on in his wake, the little black cob gathered itself together, gave three or four tremendous bounds, stretched out racing fashion, and went away at a speed that astonished his rider as much as it did the savages, who began to fire at them now, bullet after bullet whizzing by as they continued their headlong flight.

  The sound of the firing, too, had its effect on Black Boy, whose ear was still sore from the effect of the bullet that had passed through it, and he tore away more furiously than ever, till, finding that the Indians were losing ground, Bart eased up a little, but only to let the cob go again, for he was fretting at being held in, and two or three times a bullet came in pretty close proximity to their heads.

  When night fell, the Apachés were on the other side of a long low ridge, down whose near slope the cob had come at a tremendous rate; and now that the Indians would not be able to follow him for some hours to come either by sight or trail, Bart altered his course, feeling sure that he could save ground by going to the right instead of to the left of the mountain-clump before him; and for the next few hours he breathed more freely, though he dared not stop to rest.

  The next day he saw nothing of his pursuers, and the next they were pursuers no longer, but Bart knew it not, flying still for his life, though he was now in the region that would be swept by the lancers of the Government.

  He did not draw rein till the light-coloured houses of the town were well within sight, and then he was too much excited to do m
ore than ease up into a canter, for his nerves were all on the strain, his cheeks sunken, and his eyes starting and dull from exhaustion.

  But there was the town at last, looking indistinct, though, and misty. All seemed to be like a dream now, and the crowd of swarthy, ragged Mexicans in their blankets, sombreros, and rugs were all part of his dream, too, as with his last effort he thrust his hand into his breast, and took out the letter of which he was the bearer. Then it seemed to him that, as he cantered through the crowd, with his cob throwing up the dust of the plaza, it was some one else who waved a letter over his head, shouting, “The governor! the governor!” to the swarthy staring mob; and, lastly, that it was somebody else who, worn out with exhaustion now that the task was done, felt as if everything had gone from him, every nerve and fibre had become relaxed, and fell heavily from the cob he rode into the dust.

  * * *

  Chapter Forty.

  Bart tries Civilisation for a Change.

  For some hours all was blank to the brave young fellow, and then he seemed to struggle back into half-consciousness sufficient to enable him to drink from a glass held to his lips, and then once more all was blank for many hours.

  When Bart awoke from the long sleep, it was to find Maude seated by his bedside looking very anxious and pale; and as soon as she saw his eyes open, she rose and glided from the room, when in a few minutes the governor and a tall quiet-looking fair-haired man, whom Bart had never before seen, entered the apartment.

  “Ah! my young friend,” exclaimed the governor, “how are you now?”

  “Did you get the letter?” cried Bart excitedly.

  “Yes; and I have given orders for a strong relief party to be mustered ready for going to our friend’s help,” replied the governor, “but we must get you strong first.”