CHAPTER XXVAN IRISH-INDIAN ONSLAUGHT
Carlota leaped to her feet and Dennis tried to rise, but a heavy foot was on his breast and a stern face bent over him, while an uplifted forefinger pointed dismay into his inmost soul.
“Me hour has come!” thought the unhappy fellow, but he made no further effort to move. The command of those unflinching eyes was not to be disobeyed. He wondered if the intruder’s hand held the weapon with which he would be killed, but was almost too terrified to care. In his horror he felt himself already dying and his eyelids fluttered back into place as if for the last time.
“Oh! that is his salvation! If he will only keep them shut till it is over!” thought Carlota, watching.
After her sudden uprising she had not moved, and this fact was a relief to the stranger, so steadily regarding the prostrate Irishman.If she had screamed it would, probably, have brought the affair to a fatal and immediate climax. Thus a moment passed; another—more—an interminable time! The trio of human beings remained rigid, spellbound by as many varying emotions, while those terrible ten minutes which seemed an eternity dragged by. Then the foot was lifted from Dennis’s chest and he was gruffly ordered to: “Get up.”
At first, he was powerless to obey. Not until the sound of a sharp blow, followed by a grunt of satisfaction sent a thrill of new life through his palsied veins. Then he rose and saw the man who had menaced him standing a few feet away and pointing to the ground where he lay, crushed to lifelessness, a monstrous and most poisonous centipede.
“He died, not you,” said the stranger, in broken English.
“Yes, Dennis! That dreadful thing was almost upon your throat. Oh! horrible,” cried Carlota.
Dennis threw back his knotted hand to his neck and plucked away an imaginary reptile. He began to feel them crawling over him, everywhere. He had not sufficient composure leftin which to thank the stranger, who, however, expected nothing of the sort. He comforted the Irishman by saying:
“No more. Mate killed. Not plenty.”
“Yes, dear Dennis, you’re safe now, I’m sure. It seemed as if the dreadful creature would never, never finish his crawling over you. The whole width of your body and so slow! If you’d moved or disturbed him he would have thrust his deadly fangs into your flesh and you’d have died. I’ve heard about those things. It was the kind God kept you, dear old Dennis, and sent this good man just in time to save you.”
Dennis was truly thankful and humble; yet he rubbed his confused head and wondered what need there had been of the peril if rescue were foreordained. However, such problems were too deep for his simple mind and he looked up in a manner to reveal the amusing perplexity he felt.
“Escapin’ the serpent to fall into the Injun’s hands! The fire an’ the fryin’-pan, belike.”
The rescuer was, indeed, an Indian, though he spoke fairly good English. But Carlota paid less heed to him than to the possibility ofher wandering brother having suffered the same fate which had just menaced Dennis and, it might be, herself also. Laying her hand upon the stranger’s arm, she begged:
“Oh! tell me, please, have you seen a boy anywhere?”
The Irishman shivered in alarm at the girl’s audacity, yet no harm ensued. The Indian merely looked at her and answered by one word: “Plenty.”
“Where? Oh! please, please say where! Was it hereabouts? My brother, my twin—”
Then, indeed, did a curious smile show upon the redskin’s face. He wheeled around and pointed up the mountain through a canyon that seemed a continuation of the ravine where they then stood. Whatever his ability, he made scant use of his English, for all he answered was: “Come.”
Just then uprose a direful cry from the Fogarty:
“Ochone! Me bread! Me horse! The thievin’ creatur’! I’ll break every bone in his carcass, I will that!”
Even the dignified Indian was interested. There was Dennis again at war with his tetheredbroncho, who was nonchalantly nibbling the last of the priceless loaf—their own breakfast.
“Dennis! Dennis! Are you going to fight him every day, as you did Mr. Grady? Stop—I’m ashamed of you.”
“Stop, is it? An’ the breakfast clean gone?”
“But that is your fault, not his. You shouldn’t have left it where he could get it. Besides, who knows but it is all dirty and—and centipede-y?”
The Indian waited until there was a lull in affairs, then quietly untied the broncho, motioned that Carlota should mount her burro—still unsaddled, and taking the leading straps of both animals, strode up the canyon at a rapid pace. By a gesture he indicated that Dennis was to bring the saddles, blankets, and other belongings of the pair; and so intimidated was Mr. Fogarty that he dared not disobey.
Carlota rode as silent as her guide. She guessed that he was taking her to some settlement and she saw that he was such as had frequentedRefugio, and from whom she had never received other than kind treatment. She was consumed by anxiety concerning Carlos but, from her father’s talks and her own slight experience, she knew sufficient of Indian character to understand that this silence would best serve her purpose. She had asked for information and the stranger had answered, “Come.”
So because of her faith that she was being swiftly led to her brother, her heart grew light and she began to sing; and hearing the song floating down to him through the gulch, poor Dennis made a virtue of necessity and loaded himself worse than any pack mule. Then he started forward whither the others had now disappeared.
It was a brief but anxious pilgrimage. At every step he fancied a creeping, stinging reptile beneath his feet, though he reckoned upon the protection which his mighty boots were to him. On either shoulder he bore a saddle which continually grew heavier, as is the habit of burdens carried. The blanket andserapeairily floated anywhere it happened, underfootor overhead, at the caprice of the wind; and the tin box of his “little lady” played a jingling accompaniment to the whole.
“Faith! ’tis well I’d all that fine practice, hod-carryin’ to them tall buildin’s in Chicago, before I took up with railroadin’, now isn’t it, Mr. Fogarty?” he ejaculated, as he neared his journey’s end.
A moment later, as he came in sight of the pueblo and a group of its inhabitants assembled before it, he complacently added:
“An’ sure’s me name’s Dennis, they’re all waitin’ to receive me!”
As he approached the spot a shout was raised, and his elation vanished. Believing it to be a “war cry,” the vicissitudes of the morning ended in collapse. He caught a glimpse of Carlota being lifted from her burro and led away between two squaws. It seemed to him that these forced her up a steep ladder, then threw her downward into some invisible depth. Heaped with his own burdens, the Irishman sank to the ground. An ague of fear shook him, his face paled, and a cold sweat came out upon his temples. Cowering thus in terror, he saw the assembled Indians swoopdown upon him from the terrace. Then, as do those in mortal extremity, he began to see visions and dream dreams, and fancy suddenly brought before him the face, as he had imagined it, of Miguel, the Hated! In similar circumstance, what would this much-envied “Greaser” have done?
The thought of the Spaniard acted like a tonic. With a yell as wild as an Indian’s own, Dennis now arose, while the encumbering blankets and saddles fell unheeded about him. Thrusting his hand into his belt he unsheathed his dangerous dirk, crying:
“Carlota! Me own little lady! Have no fear! ’Tis comin’ I am—so ’ware to ye, ye bloodthirsty, murderin’ Injuns! Leave her go—leave!”
Mad with his own prowess he blindly rushed forward, his shining blade catching the rays of the sun and fiercely heralding his advance.
But, hark! His enemies were upon him! He made one tremendous lunge with his terrible knife, and Mr. Fogarty knew no more.