Chapter 29

STIRRING TIMES

The idea of a great fight about to come off had quite turned the heads of Sile and Two Arrows, and the later was aching all over with anxiety to try his new rifle. They had found good places to shoot from. Even the judge did not hesitate a moment about bidding Sile to do his duty, although he had a pretty strong conviction that there would not be much to do right away. Na-tee-kah had singled out that pair as the particular braves in whose conduct she was interested, but had no doubt that her brother would win more glory than the Red-head, now that he had so good a rifle.

The circumstances had even more completely turned the hot heads of the young Apache braves left in charge of their too numerous drove of horses. Every soul of them was crazy to be at the front and take part in whatever might turn up. They all seemed to drift naturally a little in that direction, and kept no kind of lookout, leaving their precious charge to take care of itself. The horses, therefore, at once began to take advantage of the grass.

This state of things continued, and grew worse and worse every minute, until a good long hour after the main body had moved away along Sile's trail towards the notch. Then, altogether unexpectedly, but as by one impulse, all the Apache horse-guard gave a sudden start and turned their heads in one direction.

Over the crest of the nearest knoll, stirring and clear and sweet, came the sound of a cavalry bugle. It was the signal to "charge," and was followed by the swift rush of Captain Grover and his men. In an instant they were between the feeding quadrupeds and their astonished keepers, and it was all in vain for the young hot-heads in their amazement to attempt to rally. One only wheeled his pony at once and rode away at the top of his speed. The nine or ten who dashed in the other direction suddenly all drew rein as they discovered the odds against them. A line of iron veterans, thirty strong, was thundering forward, and not an Apache was fool enough to fire a shot and be cut down for it.

There was just enough of bewildered, leaderless indecision to settle the matter. The sabres swept flashingly around the squad of redskins, and all they had to do was to surrender. It is a mere novelist's blunder to suppose and to write that red men have not sense enough to give it up when there is no use in fighting any more. They can do it as readily as any white man in the world, and the reason why they do not do it more frequently is because they generally keep a good chance to run away, and make a treaty afterwards as to what presents they are to have for making peace. There was no time given the young braves to strike a bargain. They were all disarmed, and then, dreadfully to their disgust, they were all dismounted and tied up.

"The plunder'll do well enough where it is," said Captain Grover, as he detailed Garry and a guard of four men to watch the prisoners. "If any of those chaps gets loose you'll have to shoot him. Men, by fours, left! Forward!"

The pony-rider who escaped was sure to carry the news of the disaster, and of the arrival of the blue-coats, but several things could happen before the Apache chief received it. He had no spy-glass, and he was eagerly waiting such information as might be obtained by the brave standing face to face with Yellow Pine.

That very cunning Apache found himself talking under difficulties. He could see distinctly that there were more than a few rifles at the barrier, but he could get no farther. The tall pale-face in front of him kept back any other information than that all the Apaches in this world or any other would be killed in case of an attack then and there. He even referred to Sile's exploit as an example, and to the lesson given by Two Arrows to the scout, and all the wild blood in the Apache brave was set boiling by that somewhat imprudent reference. He was a large, powerfully built warrior, and he had been as truthful as could be expected when he signified that he was unarmed. He kept up the idea of a "flag of truce" talk until sure he could gain no more by it, and then he uttered a shrill whoop and stooped, quick as a flash, for a long knife hidden in his leggings. He meant to carry back the scalp of Yellow Pine as a trophy of that conversation, but had not asked anybody how well Pine could box. The latter had no time to draw any weapon except his fist, but that was a hard one, and it struck the Apache on the side of his head as he was rising, knife in hand. Over and over he rolled, while Pine threw himself flat upon the earth, at the same moment digging both hands into the pockets of his pantaloons. His enemy recovered himself instantly and sprang to his feet with another whoop, lifting his long, glittering knife for a rush upon the prostrate pale-face. It might have been a perilous rush, for Pine's hands came right out of his pockets, and each held a short-barrelled "Derringer" pistol, ready cocked. They are terrible weapons, but the miner had no occasion to use either of them. The line of the barrier and of the adjacent rocks seemed to dance with blue flashes and with puffs of white smoke. Within three seconds not less than a score of rattling reports awoke the echoes of the notch, and every blue tube they came from had been aimed by a good marksman. After all was over, the prevalent opinion was that not one of them had missed. At all events Yellow Pine was safe to jump up and run for the barrier, followed by hasty shots from startled and galloping horsemen, all as useless as so many pebbles. His arrival was greeted by all the shouting and whooping which could possibly be performed by the red and white garrison of the notch, aided by One-eye with a vigor that shook him all over. Even then, however, the voice of the Big Tongue could be distinguished from the rest.

If the volume of sound did nothing else it deeply impressed the mind of the Apache chief with an idea of the strength of the force opposed to him. So had the promptness and number and accuracy of the rifle-shots which had prevented him from getting any report from his too treacherous "flag of truce" brave. As for him, Na-tee-kah had been watching Two Arrows and had seen the Apache fall just as his rifle went off. That was enough, and she was again proud of her brother. It was in vain for Ha-ha-pah-no to say,

"Ugh! Heap shoot. All kill him. Go dead a heap."

She as well as Na-tee-kah was taking every opportunity for practising all the small English words she could pick up, and some of her greatest successes would have puzzled a dictionary.

The Apaches were all but silent and drew back a little at the end of their burst of angry whooping and useless shooting. They drew back still farther because of a steady whizzing of bullets from the barrier. It was too far for good marksmanship, but the rifles made nowadays will send a piece of lead a mile and hurt something with it.

Suddenly a second burst of angry yells arose among the baffled marauders as a pony-rider in a great hurry dashed in among them, shouting forth the news of the arrival of the blue-coats and the loss of the drove and its protectors. Here was a blow indeed, and the escaped brave's estimate of the number of the cavalry he had run away from was very liberal. The Apache chief was necessarily a good captain, fully able to understand how bad it would be for him to be placed between two fires. The ground in front of the notch was therefore no place for him to fight in, and he did not know what precious minutes he had already been wasting. He threw away ten more in a sort of consultation with his wisest warriors, and at the same time his whole force rode up the valley a short distance. That move gave them the cover of some trees and took them out of range of bullets from the barrier, and at that very moment Judge Parks was startled by a yell from Sile.

"What are you doing up there?" he shouted, for Sile had clambered away up among the rocks of the lodge and stood upon a sort of pinnacle, spy-glass in hand.

"Cavalry, father! They are coming. Cavalry--"

"Come down!"

"Right in this direction. Riding hard. Hurrah!"

The new rifle of Two Arrows could not have won him the glory of that discovery and announcement. Once more the peculiar advantages of pale-faces over red men were forced upon him, but somehow it did but stir up his ambition, and with it a quick, daring impulse. He sprang away up the valley for a horse. He rushed in among the gathered animals of the corral, and boldly picked out his father's best and swiftest mustang, a beast that could run like the wind. He asked for no saddle, and the bridle went on as if by magic.

Sile came down from his perch at a rate that risked his neck, and made a report which drew from Yellow Pine,

"I'd call it--Jedge, if we could only let them fellers know we're here, it would be wuth a heap."

Before all who echoed that wish had finished speaking Two Arrows came dashing towards the barrier, all ready for the errand.

"Give the youngster three cheers!" shouted Yellow Pine. "Hurrah for him!"