Chapter Forty Six.A Patient Patient.“I wonder you are both alive,” said the doctor gravely, as he began to make a careful examination of the mustang. “The height of those cliffs is far greater than I expected.”Chris’s eyes danced with glee, for he was beginning more and more to forget his injuries in his delight at recovering his pony.“But we only fell a bit at a time, father,” he said merrily.“I suppose not,” said the doctor dryly. “But now, can you help me a little, or are you too full of aches and pains?”“You mean with the pony, father? Oh yes, I’m going to help. He’ll be so much quieter if I stand with him.”“That’s what I thought, for I don’t want to have to throw the poor beast; he must be sore enough as it is. Stand forward, and be on your guard.”“Yes,” said Chris quietly, “but I never thought of it before: his saddle and bridle are both gone.”“I wonder, his skin hasn’t gone too,” said Wilton. “But you had better get a good strong bridle on him again, doctor.”“We’ll see. He’ll soon show whether he will bear what I do, or show fight. Be on your guard, Chris, for bites and kicks.”“He won’t bite or kick me, father,” cried the boy resentfully.“Not now, my boy, but I’m thinking about when I’m taking out those arrows. I must cut.—Let’s see.”The doctor patted the poor animal on the neck, talking to him caressingly, and then passed his hand along slowly till his fingers pressed the spot where about an inch of one of the broken arrows stood out of the shoulder.At the first touch the pony winced, giving a sharp twitch, making the skin crinkle up together; and he raised one hoof and stamped it impatiently, but he showed no disposition to bite.“I believe he’ll stand it,” said the doctor, examining the wound. “It’s beginning to fester already, and I dare say the cutting will give as much relief as pain.”“It’s risky to chance it, doctor,” said Wilton.“No, I think not,” was the reply. “I don’t give animals the credit for much sense, but the poor beast knows us, and he may have enough to be aware that we are trying to do him good.”As the doctor spoke he opened his leather case of instruments, and took out a curved, hook-like knife and a pair of strong forceps.“Water and sponge all ready? That’s right. Now then, we shall soon know. Stand in front of his head, Chris.”Then as soon as the boy was where he was directed to stand, stroking the poor beast’s nose, the doctor took hold of the broken shaft with the forceps, made sure of the position of the flattened arrowhead, and then passing the curved knife down by its side, made one firm cut through the skin and muscle, and the next moment the withdrawn arrow was thrown on the stones at their feet.“Brave boy!” said the doctor loudly. “Why, he hardly winced. Now for the sponge and water. That’s right,” and he bathed and pressed the bleeding wound thoroughly. “There,” he said; “I believe the poor brute really does understand. Let that bleed a little; it will help it to heal better. Now for the next.”This was a very different injury, for plainly enough to be seen just beneath the skin there lay fully six inches of a broken arrow.The doctor passed his hand over this, and the pony shivered a little; but it was only a very superficial flinch, and the doctor changed his knife for another lying in the leather case.“Poor old fellow,” he said. “I believe I could do anything to him. He must understand.”The two boys watched everything intently, and noted that the operator pinched up the skin and arrow together; then starting from the orifice where the missile had entered he drew the keen point along the shaft till it grated on the barbed head, dividing the skin cleanly the whole length of the arrow, which required no forceps to remove it, for it dropped down of its own weight.“Why, Chris,” cried the doctor, “you couldn’t have borne this so patiently.—Now, hold up the bucket, Ned. That’s the way. I dare say the sponging feels comforting and takes off the itching.”“But ought it to bleed, father?” asked Chris.“No, no. The injury is only to the skin. There’s very little harm done.”The third wound was far worse, and to get out the arrowhead the doctor had to cut deeply, with the result that the equine patient stamped angrily and whinnied and shook his head. But he stood firm, making no attempt to kick or bite, and as soon as the wound was being bathed, stood blinking and evidently enjoying having its muzzle smoothed.Then came the long cut or tear on the poor brute’s flank, an injury so tender that he winced and shivered at the slightest touch. But there was no cutting here, nothing but bathing and cleansing the place thoroughly, before the skin was drawn together by means of pins passed through the edges and waxed silk wound round and round from head to point of the little pins. The skin of the other injuries was closed in the same way, and then the doctor made a fresh examination of the poor animal’s sprain.“I can do nothing here,” he said. “Nature will put that right. There, Chris, lead him back to the others, and let him graze and forget his troubles if he can.”No leading was required, the pony following his master like a dog back to the pasture, where he began grazing for a few moments, before turning up his head to whinny loudly, and then lie down in the thick grass, stretching out legs and head, extended upon the flank.“Why, Chris,” cried Ned, “he’s fainting!”“Or something worse,” cried Chris anxiously, as he sank stiffly upon his knees behind the mustang’s head and laid his hand upon the neck.“No, he’s all right,” cried Ned eagerly, for the pony on feeling the touch of his master’s hand and hearing his voice, raised his muzzle, looked at him, and let it sink down again.“Poor old fellow,” said Chris softly, and he stayed there kneeling and talking quietly to the injured animal, till a shout from the terrace recalled them back.Chris gave the soft neck another pat or two, and limped off with his companion.“I do hope he’s not going to die, Ned,” he said, and he looked back when they had passed the mules, to have the satisfaction of seeing the pony make an effort to rise, without avail, but on the second trial he stood up with his legs far apart, gave himself a shake, and then lowered his head to begin biting feebly at the grass.“Think he’ll get over it, father?” said Chris, as he reached their stronghold.“Oh yes. The injuries are not deep; but I’m rather afraid of that strain. He may go lame; but we shall see. I called you because I want you to keep out of the sun. Lie down in the shade and rest.”“I don’t feel anything much the matter now, father.”“Perhaps not, my boy,” said the doctor quietly, “but I want you to be better still to-morrow, not worse.”Chris, though he did not feel much the matter, to quote his own words, was fully conscious of being a good deal shaken, and when he lay down upon the rough bed of sage-brush covered with a blanket, the attitude was very pleasant to his aching limbs, and he soon began to feel that it was very restful to lie there watching the sides of the valley and making believe to keep a lookout for Indians.The evening closed in, however, without any sign of the enemy, and soon after the lad had to listen to the congratulations of Bourne and Griggs, who brought in a pleasant addition to the stores in the shape of the grouse-like birds which came down from the tableland in coveys to get at the water which had been Chris’s guide to the bottom of the valley.“A fine bit of luck that, squire,” said Griggs, “getting the mustang back. I was surprised.”“Have you been to see him?” asked Chris anxiously.“Oh yes; I went as soon as I heard.”“What do you think of him?”“Regular cripple,” said Griggs, in his uncompromising way.“But you think he’ll get better?”“Well, I hope so, but horses are ticklish things, and you never know what comes of a sprain or strain. I hope he’ll come round, but I have my doubts about his being quite sound again.”As soon as it was dark the ponies and mules were quietly driven higher up the valley, so as to try and guard against any attempt to carry them off in the night. Then watch was set, and before those not on duty sought their resting-places a little debate was held as to the next steps to be taken. But not much was said. Reference was however made to Chris’s mount and the possibility of his being fit to ride again at the end of a few days.“But, you see, everything depends on the Indians,” said the doctor. “We can’t leave here to have them hanging on our heels, ready to catch us at a disadvantage. I almost wish they’d attack us to-morrow or next day, to get severely punished and so discouraged that they’d be off and leave us alone.”“Don’t you think they’d come back to revenge themselves?” said Chris. “They must feel very spiteful even now, father.”“Yes, but an Indian is very fond of his life, my boy, and only likes to attack when he feels pretty sure of securing plunder. Now he is not likely to get much here, for any attempt made upon our cattle is bound to result in failure.”“But suppose they attacked in the night?” said Chris.“I don’t think these people would do that, my boy. They are horse Indians—Apaches, I fancy, and they like to fight as mounted men, so that they can dash in or gallop away. But come, you’ve talked too much already. Lie down and go to sleep. We’re pretty safe here in our stronghold; water is plentiful; and it seems as if we have only to go and lie up near that spring to get as many birds as we want. Now then, sleep. I want rest badly, for I’ve had a long day and quite as much anxiety as is good for any one man.”Chris thought the same as he lay there, rather sleepless now, after so long an indulgence; and he thought a good deal too as he gazed up through the window-opening at the great stars, a little feverish and worried about his part in the adventures.“Could I have done any better than I did?” kept coming as a question which remained unanswered when he dropped off to sleep, to begin dreaming about the reproachful eyes of his pony for a time. Then all was blank.
“I wonder you are both alive,” said the doctor gravely, as he began to make a careful examination of the mustang. “The height of those cliffs is far greater than I expected.”
Chris’s eyes danced with glee, for he was beginning more and more to forget his injuries in his delight at recovering his pony.
“But we only fell a bit at a time, father,” he said merrily.
“I suppose not,” said the doctor dryly. “But now, can you help me a little, or are you too full of aches and pains?”
“You mean with the pony, father? Oh yes, I’m going to help. He’ll be so much quieter if I stand with him.”
“That’s what I thought, for I don’t want to have to throw the poor beast; he must be sore enough as it is. Stand forward, and be on your guard.”
“Yes,” said Chris quietly, “but I never thought of it before: his saddle and bridle are both gone.”
“I wonder, his skin hasn’t gone too,” said Wilton. “But you had better get a good strong bridle on him again, doctor.”
“We’ll see. He’ll soon show whether he will bear what I do, or show fight. Be on your guard, Chris, for bites and kicks.”
“He won’t bite or kick me, father,” cried the boy resentfully.
“Not now, my boy, but I’m thinking about when I’m taking out those arrows. I must cut.—Let’s see.”
The doctor patted the poor animal on the neck, talking to him caressingly, and then passed his hand along slowly till his fingers pressed the spot where about an inch of one of the broken arrows stood out of the shoulder.
At the first touch the pony winced, giving a sharp twitch, making the skin crinkle up together; and he raised one hoof and stamped it impatiently, but he showed no disposition to bite.
“I believe he’ll stand it,” said the doctor, examining the wound. “It’s beginning to fester already, and I dare say the cutting will give as much relief as pain.”
“It’s risky to chance it, doctor,” said Wilton.
“No, I think not,” was the reply. “I don’t give animals the credit for much sense, but the poor beast knows us, and he may have enough to be aware that we are trying to do him good.”
As the doctor spoke he opened his leather case of instruments, and took out a curved, hook-like knife and a pair of strong forceps.
“Water and sponge all ready? That’s right. Now then, we shall soon know. Stand in front of his head, Chris.”
Then as soon as the boy was where he was directed to stand, stroking the poor beast’s nose, the doctor took hold of the broken shaft with the forceps, made sure of the position of the flattened arrowhead, and then passing the curved knife down by its side, made one firm cut through the skin and muscle, and the next moment the withdrawn arrow was thrown on the stones at their feet.
“Brave boy!” said the doctor loudly. “Why, he hardly winced. Now for the sponge and water. That’s right,” and he bathed and pressed the bleeding wound thoroughly. “There,” he said; “I believe the poor brute really does understand. Let that bleed a little; it will help it to heal better. Now for the next.”
This was a very different injury, for plainly enough to be seen just beneath the skin there lay fully six inches of a broken arrow.
The doctor passed his hand over this, and the pony shivered a little; but it was only a very superficial flinch, and the doctor changed his knife for another lying in the leather case.
“Poor old fellow,” he said. “I believe I could do anything to him. He must understand.”
The two boys watched everything intently, and noted that the operator pinched up the skin and arrow together; then starting from the orifice where the missile had entered he drew the keen point along the shaft till it grated on the barbed head, dividing the skin cleanly the whole length of the arrow, which required no forceps to remove it, for it dropped down of its own weight.
“Why, Chris,” cried the doctor, “you couldn’t have borne this so patiently.—Now, hold up the bucket, Ned. That’s the way. I dare say the sponging feels comforting and takes off the itching.”
“But ought it to bleed, father?” asked Chris.
“No, no. The injury is only to the skin. There’s very little harm done.”
The third wound was far worse, and to get out the arrowhead the doctor had to cut deeply, with the result that the equine patient stamped angrily and whinnied and shook his head. But he stood firm, making no attempt to kick or bite, and as soon as the wound was being bathed, stood blinking and evidently enjoying having its muzzle smoothed.
Then came the long cut or tear on the poor brute’s flank, an injury so tender that he winced and shivered at the slightest touch. But there was no cutting here, nothing but bathing and cleansing the place thoroughly, before the skin was drawn together by means of pins passed through the edges and waxed silk wound round and round from head to point of the little pins. The skin of the other injuries was closed in the same way, and then the doctor made a fresh examination of the poor animal’s sprain.
“I can do nothing here,” he said. “Nature will put that right. There, Chris, lead him back to the others, and let him graze and forget his troubles if he can.”
No leading was required, the pony following his master like a dog back to the pasture, where he began grazing for a few moments, before turning up his head to whinny loudly, and then lie down in the thick grass, stretching out legs and head, extended upon the flank.
“Why, Chris,” cried Ned, “he’s fainting!”
“Or something worse,” cried Chris anxiously, as he sank stiffly upon his knees behind the mustang’s head and laid his hand upon the neck.
“No, he’s all right,” cried Ned eagerly, for the pony on feeling the touch of his master’s hand and hearing his voice, raised his muzzle, looked at him, and let it sink down again.
“Poor old fellow,” said Chris softly, and he stayed there kneeling and talking quietly to the injured animal, till a shout from the terrace recalled them back.
Chris gave the soft neck another pat or two, and limped off with his companion.
“I do hope he’s not going to die, Ned,” he said, and he looked back when they had passed the mules, to have the satisfaction of seeing the pony make an effort to rise, without avail, but on the second trial he stood up with his legs far apart, gave himself a shake, and then lowered his head to begin biting feebly at the grass.
“Think he’ll get over it, father?” said Chris, as he reached their stronghold.
“Oh yes. The injuries are not deep; but I’m rather afraid of that strain. He may go lame; but we shall see. I called you because I want you to keep out of the sun. Lie down in the shade and rest.”
“I don’t feel anything much the matter now, father.”
“Perhaps not, my boy,” said the doctor quietly, “but I want you to be better still to-morrow, not worse.”
Chris, though he did not feel much the matter, to quote his own words, was fully conscious of being a good deal shaken, and when he lay down upon the rough bed of sage-brush covered with a blanket, the attitude was very pleasant to his aching limbs, and he soon began to feel that it was very restful to lie there watching the sides of the valley and making believe to keep a lookout for Indians.
The evening closed in, however, without any sign of the enemy, and soon after the lad had to listen to the congratulations of Bourne and Griggs, who brought in a pleasant addition to the stores in the shape of the grouse-like birds which came down from the tableland in coveys to get at the water which had been Chris’s guide to the bottom of the valley.
“A fine bit of luck that, squire,” said Griggs, “getting the mustang back. I was surprised.”
“Have you been to see him?” asked Chris anxiously.
“Oh yes; I went as soon as I heard.”
“What do you think of him?”
“Regular cripple,” said Griggs, in his uncompromising way.
“But you think he’ll get better?”
“Well, I hope so, but horses are ticklish things, and you never know what comes of a sprain or strain. I hope he’ll come round, but I have my doubts about his being quite sound again.”
As soon as it was dark the ponies and mules were quietly driven higher up the valley, so as to try and guard against any attempt to carry them off in the night. Then watch was set, and before those not on duty sought their resting-places a little debate was held as to the next steps to be taken. But not much was said. Reference was however made to Chris’s mount and the possibility of his being fit to ride again at the end of a few days.
“But, you see, everything depends on the Indians,” said the doctor. “We can’t leave here to have them hanging on our heels, ready to catch us at a disadvantage. I almost wish they’d attack us to-morrow or next day, to get severely punished and so discouraged that they’d be off and leave us alone.”
“Don’t you think they’d come back to revenge themselves?” said Chris. “They must feel very spiteful even now, father.”
“Yes, but an Indian is very fond of his life, my boy, and only likes to attack when he feels pretty sure of securing plunder. Now he is not likely to get much here, for any attempt made upon our cattle is bound to result in failure.”
“But suppose they attacked in the night?” said Chris.
“I don’t think these people would do that, my boy. They are horse Indians—Apaches, I fancy, and they like to fight as mounted men, so that they can dash in or gallop away. But come, you’ve talked too much already. Lie down and go to sleep. We’re pretty safe here in our stronghold; water is plentiful; and it seems as if we have only to go and lie up near that spring to get as many birds as we want. Now then, sleep. I want rest badly, for I’ve had a long day and quite as much anxiety as is good for any one man.”
Chris thought the same as he lay there, rather sleepless now, after so long an indulgence; and he thought a good deal too as he gazed up through the window-opening at the great stars, a little feverish and worried about his part in the adventures.
“Could I have done any better than I did?” kept coming as a question which remained unanswered when he dropped off to sleep, to begin dreaming about the reproachful eyes of his pony for a time. Then all was blank.
Chapter Forty Seven.Councils of War.Chris awoke next morning to find his father standing over him.“Well, my boy; better?”Chris started up, uttered a squeak and screwed up his face with a laugh, and fell back.“How’s my pony, father?”“What was the matter?” said the doctor anxiously. “A pain anywhere inside?”“No, father, only I seem to hurt all over, I’m so sore. But how’s my pony?”“Let the pony wait, boy. I want to be certain that you have no serious hurt. Wait a minute. Let me try.”The doctor began his examination, and question after question came. “Does that hurt?—Does this?—Now then, do you feel anything when I press here—or there—or there?”“Yes—yes—yes!” cried the boy petulantly, as he winced and started and cried “Oh!” and “Ah!” and “I say, father!” and “Oh, please don’t!”“I must make sure, my boy.”“But I’m sure, father; won’t that do?” cried the boy, in a tone of remonstrance. “Of course all that hurts me; you pulled and pinched me about so. I was as sore as sore all over before you began, and now I’m ever so much worse.”“No, you’re not, boy. You’re all right. There’s nothing broken. You’re bruised and strained, but that’s all. You’ll soon come right. Sleep well?”“Part of the time, father. The rest was all waste, and I lay there feeling as if I ought to be keeping the watch, and thinking that some one else ought to be sleeping who could.”“But you were sleeping soundly when I came.”“Of course, father. I wanted to make up for lost time.”“And you feel now as if you can’t touch food?”Chris stared.“Are you saying that as a joke, father?”“Certainly not. You feel as if you had no appetite?”“That I don’t, father. I feel as if I could eat anything.”“Nothing the matter at all but stiff. That will soon pass off.”“Then you’re not going to mix up anything horrid for me, father?”“Nothing worse than tea or coffee; and you may have damper and bacon to take afterwards,” said the doctor, laughing. “Have a good wash and rub out in the sunshine before breakfast. Then eat a good meal and lie about all day again in the sunshine.”“What for, father?”“To give nature time to get your bruises right.”“But you won’t tell me how my pony is—and he’s worse than I am. Don’t say he’s tired, father?” cried the boy piteously, for the doctor’s face looked very serious.“Certainly not. Poor beast, he’s far more stiff and sore than you are, besides having all those bad wounds.”“But they’re getting better?” cried Chris anxiously.“They’re no worse, my boy,” replied the doctor, “but they have had no time to get better. I have stopped them from getting into a bad condition, and the poor thing is limping about grazing as if nothing much was the matter. Are you satisfied?”“Oh yes,” cried Chris eagerly, as he rose and began to try himself in different attitudes. “It has done me good to hear it. I—I don’t think I’m quite so stiff this morning.”“That’s right.”“Are we going on to-day?”“On? No. We’re prisoners; and besides, we couldn’t start with you and your pony in hospital.”“What about the Indians?”“We haven’t seen a sign of them. They’re either laying some trap for us, or they have been regularly sickened and have stolen away in the night.”“Are you going to see?”“Perhaps,” said the doctor; “but I’m more disposed to keep a quiet lookout, and rest. We’re quite safe here, and provisions are more plentiful than I thought for. Griggs has found the spoor of some big buck and his young does. They have straggled into the valley during the night.”“That’s good news, father.”“For the larder: yes. What do you say to taking up land here and making a fresh start in life?”“Wouldn’t do, father,” said the boy, shaking his head. “Too far away from everybody.”“Yes, it would be the life of a hermit. Ready to come out?”“Yes, I’m going out to the water-bucket, as you advised.”“That’s right; go. It will give you an appetite for your breakfast.”It was Ned’s turn to keep watch from the observatory, as they termed a little shelter, roughly-made on the top terrace; but Chris would have taken his place had not his father interposed.“But it seems so hard for him to go up there while we’re having a good meal down here,” said Chris wistfully.“He shall be looked after,” said the doctor, “and I don’t want you to do much climbing about yet. You must rest.”Chris was silent, and took an opportunity to have a word or two with Ned before he started to climb up the narrow ways.“That was very good of you, old chap,” whispered Ned, gripping his comrade by the left arm, with the result that Chris groaned and ground his teeth.“Oh, you brute!” he said sharply.“Chris!—I am sorry.”“What’s the good of being sorry? That’s the sorest place I’ve got.”“I didn’t know, old chap.”“I did; and I do now,” replied Chris, rubbing the spot softly. “Never mind.”“But I do mind. I ought to have thought. Just too when you’d offered to do my work for me so that I could stop down to breakfast.”“Don’t say any more about it,” said Chris, with a grin of pain in his face dying out before a rather malicious smile. “They won’t let me help you one way, so I will in another. I’m precious hungry, and I won’t let your breakfast grow cold.”“Oh, thank you, old chap. That’s very good of you, for I’m precious hungry too.”“I thought you were,” continued Chris, looking quite solemn now. “I’ll eat your lot for you.”For a few moments Ned’s face was a study. It was so full of dismay. Then there was a look of doubt, and directly after he had read the truth.“Get out!” he cried, and his hand was raised to give his comrade a heavy slap on the back; but Chris cried “Murder!” and shrank away.“Oh, I forgot again,” cried Ned hurriedly.“You’d better be off up now, my boy,” said Bourne. “Don’t forget the glass.”“No, father. All right,” cried the boy, and exchanging glances with Chris and following up his own with a clench of the fist, he took the binocular and hurried up to the lookout, while the rest applied themselves to the needed meal, but half-expecting to be alarmed, and impressed always by the expectation of attack, every one’s weapons being kept ready to hand.Chris ate, as his father said laughingly, like an impostor, a remark which Griggs, who did not join them till the meal had been going on for some minutes, readily endorsed.Chris laughed, and the remarks did not spoil his appetite; but his thoughts were busy all through, and he looked anxiously for the termination of the meal, and when all was over he turned uneasily to Griggs.“I say,” he whispered, “oughtn’t some one to go and relieve Ned?”“What for?” was the uncompromising response.“What for? Why, because he must be starving.”“Poor fellow! He must have an appetite then,” said Griggs, laughing. “Did you see what I took up to him?”“Oh,” cried Chris remorsefully. “What a shame! Here was I thinking that every one had been selfish to the poor fellow, while all the time—”“We had all played quite fair—you most of all. Here, how are all the aches and pains now?”“Getting better. I have no right to make so much fuss about them and play at being in hospital.”“You’re not, lad. You’re only doing what the doctor ordered. A fellow can’t fall nearly a mile perpendicular and slantingdicular without being a good deal shaken.”“How far?” said Chris, laughing.“Well, say half-a-mile.”“What nonsense!”“Say quarter of a mile then,” cried Griggs sharply.“Divided by what?”“You are hard to please. I didn’t measure the distance; but I will as soon as we’ve got rid of these precious redskins.”“Don’t,” said Chris. “I didn’t fall far, and it was most of it sliding down.”“Turn round,” cried the American, “and set your eyes at the very bottom of the cliff, and then run them up to the sharp edge where we saw you having that battle with your poor mustang before you went over, and then tell me again that you didn’t fall far.”“Don’t want to,” said Chris, who looked all the same, and felt a little shiver as of something cold running down his back. “There, I’m off.”“Where are you going? The doctor said you were to rest.”“That’s what I’m going to do,” said Chris, “but I must go and see how my pony is.”“Ah, well, I suppose that won’t hurt you. I’ll go up and have a chat with Ned, and see if I can mark down any of the enemy.”They parted, and Chris walked over the rugged stones and down the slopes till he was at the bottom of the valley, with his feet brushing aside the long rich grass in which the mules were standing knee-deep, and which they neglected for the fresh green branches of the shrubs which grew thickly here and there.“I forgot all about the snakes,” said the boy to himself; “but there can’t be any here, or the jacks wouldn’t be so quiet.”Quiet they were, for though he walked right through the browsing herd they hardly turned their heads in his direction.It was different when he reached the half-dozen ponies, which still kept themselves aloof as if preferring their own more aristocratic company. They were so rested and well fed that they were disposed to turn skittish, and two of them communicated their spirits to three of the others, which joined in, tossing their heads, prancing, and making a show of treating their visitor as one who was hiding bridle and bit behind him, ready to entrap and change their pleasant hour’s grazing there amongst the rich succulent grass to a mouthful of hard iron with the burden of heavy riders upon their backs.In fact, five of the ponies contrived to keep the advancing lad at a distance, while the sixth, which had been grazing slowly, suddenly raised its head and stood staring at him.At the first glance Chris set this down to feebleness, and looked upon it as a bad sign. But he altered his mind directly after, when he walked up to the animal’s side, patting its neck and passing its soft ears through his hand, for the poor beast whinnied softly, and slowly advanced its muzzle to rest it against the boy’s arm.“Why, I believe you’re better, old chap,” cried Chris, as he began to examine the pony’s wounds, seeing at once that they appeared to be drying up, while when he moved a yard or two the animal followed him, limping, it is true, but not in a way that suggested permanent injury. “Why, this is cheering,” cried Chris eagerly. “I thought that you and I were never going to have a long gallop over the plains again, and now you look as if you’ll be ready for me to mount in a fortnight at the most—perhaps in a week, eh, old chap? There, I am glad. I say, I should like as soon as the Indians have gone, for you to carry me up to the head of the valley there, and then for you to show me exactly where it was that you fell, and—Hallo! What’s that?”Chris looked round sharply, but could see nothing but the groups of grazing horses and mules.“It sounded as if some one had thrown a stone. Can’t be Ned stalking me and up to his games, can it?—There it goes again.”He started round to look behind him towards the terraced fortress he had left, but all was quiet there and no sign visible of Ned or any one to play any trick.Then again something—something, he knew not what; but it was as if a pebble had fallen from the sky.“Not going to hail, is it?” thought Chris; and then he laughed at the absurdity of the idea, for the sky was perfectly clear.Rap!Another something fallen from on high, but the mystery was at an end, for he not only saw it falling but where it had struck, to stick quivering and nearly upright amongst the grass.An arrow, and from its slope it must have come from the unexplored side of the valley, and been shot high in the air for it to stand so nearly upright in the grass.“Indians on the other side,” thought Chris, and his first thought was to run round the grazing animals and drive them towards the part where they had made their camp.He started to do this, but stopped at once, uttering a groan of misery, for in spite of his brave effort, his run proved to be a miserable hobble, and then the agony he suffered in his side forced him to stop.“Help! help!” he shouted hoarsely, but he felt that his cry sounded like a call to the animals amongst whom he stood, and as far as he could make out there was no one visible to heed his waving hat.“I must fire my revolver,” he thought, and his hand went to his belt to unbutton the leather flap of the holster; but he did not withdraw the weapon, for he knew that the report would scare the poor beasts and send them galloping in all directions.The time occupied in this was very short, but it was long enough for two more arrows to fall very near him, one nearly upright to cut its way with a sharp whizz amongst the grass and bury its head in the soft earth at an angle of forty-five degrees.Then another idea struck Chris—tardily, for he felt that he should have thought of it at first.Thrusting his hand into his breast, he drew forth a little chain, at the end of which was a metal whistle, and the alarm note he blew sounded piercing and shrill.He did not stop there, but did what he felt was best. Hobbling to the side of his mustang and talking caressingly to it the while, he took hold of the thick forelock and began to lead it towards where he hoped to find safety.The docile little animal made no opposition to being led from the pleasant pasture, but started and shivered as there came the sharp whizz of another arrow—too painful a memory to his ear—making the poor beast limp along a little faster in obedience to his master’s effort to get him away.Then another arrow came terribly near them, and Chris whistled again, his spirits rising though, for the rest of the animals, taking in the fact of one of them being led away from either corn or water, began to neigh and squeal as they closed in after their leader, so that if there proved to be time enough before the arrows took effect, Chris felt, as he blew a long and shrill note again, that he would be able to guide the herd into safety.“Why are they not on the lookout?” groaned the boy, for his progress was painfully slow; “they ought to see that something is wrong.” But he was ignorant of the fact that nothing was visible from the lookout but himself and the animals trotting about playfully as they kept pretty close to the wounded mustang.An arrow again, and another, each wonderfully near, but no harm was done. Then another which fell with a dull thud, and was followed by a wild scream which startled the herd into disorder, sending the mules helter-skelter, kicking and plunging, all but one, which galloped away by itself, turning its head the while to bite at an arrow which had buried itself in its back.That strange scream had done what Chris’s whistle failed in, drawn attention to something being wrong, while directly after a little puff of smoke darted from the upper terrace, followed by its report and the reverberation of echoes. Then another shot, and another, and no more arrows fell, though Chris in his slow progress suffered as much agony as if they had still been dropping all around.But now the doctor came running out, followed by Wilton, and under the cover of a few more shots the little herd was driven in, slowly enough, for the wounded mule progressed more and more slowly till it hung back close alongside of Chris’s mustang, showing that it was badly hurt.“Only enough to prove that the enemy are well on the watch,” said the doctor, after he had seen to the wounded mule, “and a warning to us that we must not relax our care.”Griggs had by this time descended from the terrace, it having been his rifle that had put an end to the coming of the arrows.“Hardly thought they could have shot so far,” he said; “but after all, they didn’t get an arrow much more than half-way here. Say, didn’t do you much good, Master Chris, hurrying back like that.”“I’m afraid it’s the mustang that has suffered,” said Chris. “I didn’t hurt, only it was dreadfully hard to find that I couldn’t run.”“You ought to be very thankful that you can walk, Chris,” said the doctor quietly. “It is next door to marvellous that you should have escaped without a broken bone. But now then, Griggs, matters begin to look serious. What is to be done?”“That’s just what I have been thinking, sir. The enemy isn’t a bit satisfied, and the next time they begin making targets of us they may be more fortunate.”“What I am afraid of is that they may now get upon the high ground above us here.”“And that would be awkward, sir,” said the American thoughtfully. Then after a pause—“We’ve got the whip hand of them with our rifles.”“Of course.”“And we’ve shown them a little of what we can do, but not enough. There’s only one thing left now.”“And what’s that?” asked the doctor, after a glance at his son.“Give them such a lesson that they won’t stop to have any more, but make off into the desert.”“That’s very good advice,” replied the doctor, “but how can it be done without risk to ourselves?”“Let them think we daren’t stir away from here, while we wait for a few days to let some one get well again, and his nag too, while we have not been wasting time, but under the screen of hunting and shooting have been watching, and when once we have got to know where they camp, we must come upon them suddenly some night, and the rifles must do the rest.”“Well, Chris, what do you think of that?” said the doctor, turning to where the two boys sat listening.“Can’t be done,” said Chris shortly.“Why?”“How are you going to find out where they make their camp? They’re in one place to-day and another to-morrow.”“Yes, Griggs, that is the difficulty.”“Well, I know that, sir,” replied Griggs; “but can you think of a better plan?”“Only that of waiting till we see them some time in the open, and then coming out to attack them.”“Half-a-dozen of us against a hundred,” said Griggs dryly; “all mounted men who can ride as if they were part of their horses. We could shoot a good many of them, of course, but they’d be too much for us if we killed or wounded fifty of them. For how many of us would go down in doing it?”“They could spare ten,” said Bourne, who had just sauntered up, “while we couldn’t spare one.”“No, nor half one,” said Griggs. “What we’ve got to do, gentlemen, is something that will give them such a startler that they’ll have had enough of it; and it must be done without our getting a scratch.”“Yes,” said the doctor; “but how?”“That’s what we’ve got to think out, sir. We ought to be a bit cleverer than a set of savage Indians. I vote we all make up our minds to think it out. We’ve got plenty of time, for we’re all right here as to food and shelter, and can’t move for a week certain.”“On account of Chris and the injured beasts,” said the doctor. “Very well; we must all put on our wisdom caps and puzzle it out. I’ll go and have a chat with Wilton now.”The little meeting broke up, and Griggs went to spend his short time before going on duty in cleaning his rifle, while, as if attracted to the same spot, Chris and Ned followed him to a sheltered nook near the place where a bucket was standing ready for sending down to the running water and bringing up refilled.
Chris awoke next morning to find his father standing over him.
“Well, my boy; better?”
Chris started up, uttered a squeak and screwed up his face with a laugh, and fell back.
“How’s my pony, father?”
“What was the matter?” said the doctor anxiously. “A pain anywhere inside?”
“No, father, only I seem to hurt all over, I’m so sore. But how’s my pony?”
“Let the pony wait, boy. I want to be certain that you have no serious hurt. Wait a minute. Let me try.”
The doctor began his examination, and question after question came. “Does that hurt?—Does this?—Now then, do you feel anything when I press here—or there—or there?”
“Yes—yes—yes!” cried the boy petulantly, as he winced and started and cried “Oh!” and “Ah!” and “I say, father!” and “Oh, please don’t!”
“I must make sure, my boy.”
“But I’m sure, father; won’t that do?” cried the boy, in a tone of remonstrance. “Of course all that hurts me; you pulled and pinched me about so. I was as sore as sore all over before you began, and now I’m ever so much worse.”
“No, you’re not, boy. You’re all right. There’s nothing broken. You’re bruised and strained, but that’s all. You’ll soon come right. Sleep well?”
“Part of the time, father. The rest was all waste, and I lay there feeling as if I ought to be keeping the watch, and thinking that some one else ought to be sleeping who could.”
“But you were sleeping soundly when I came.”
“Of course, father. I wanted to make up for lost time.”
“And you feel now as if you can’t touch food?”
Chris stared.
“Are you saying that as a joke, father?”
“Certainly not. You feel as if you had no appetite?”
“That I don’t, father. I feel as if I could eat anything.”
“Nothing the matter at all but stiff. That will soon pass off.”
“Then you’re not going to mix up anything horrid for me, father?”
“Nothing worse than tea or coffee; and you may have damper and bacon to take afterwards,” said the doctor, laughing. “Have a good wash and rub out in the sunshine before breakfast. Then eat a good meal and lie about all day again in the sunshine.”
“What for, father?”
“To give nature time to get your bruises right.”
“But you won’t tell me how my pony is—and he’s worse than I am. Don’t say he’s tired, father?” cried the boy piteously, for the doctor’s face looked very serious.
“Certainly not. Poor beast, he’s far more stiff and sore than you are, besides having all those bad wounds.”
“But they’re getting better?” cried Chris anxiously.
“They’re no worse, my boy,” replied the doctor, “but they have had no time to get better. I have stopped them from getting into a bad condition, and the poor thing is limping about grazing as if nothing much was the matter. Are you satisfied?”
“Oh yes,” cried Chris eagerly, as he rose and began to try himself in different attitudes. “It has done me good to hear it. I—I don’t think I’m quite so stiff this morning.”
“That’s right.”
“Are we going on to-day?”
“On? No. We’re prisoners; and besides, we couldn’t start with you and your pony in hospital.”
“What about the Indians?”
“We haven’t seen a sign of them. They’re either laying some trap for us, or they have been regularly sickened and have stolen away in the night.”
“Are you going to see?”
“Perhaps,” said the doctor; “but I’m more disposed to keep a quiet lookout, and rest. We’re quite safe here, and provisions are more plentiful than I thought for. Griggs has found the spoor of some big buck and his young does. They have straggled into the valley during the night.”
“That’s good news, father.”
“For the larder: yes. What do you say to taking up land here and making a fresh start in life?”
“Wouldn’t do, father,” said the boy, shaking his head. “Too far away from everybody.”
“Yes, it would be the life of a hermit. Ready to come out?”
“Yes, I’m going out to the water-bucket, as you advised.”
“That’s right; go. It will give you an appetite for your breakfast.”
It was Ned’s turn to keep watch from the observatory, as they termed a little shelter, roughly-made on the top terrace; but Chris would have taken his place had not his father interposed.
“But it seems so hard for him to go up there while we’re having a good meal down here,” said Chris wistfully.
“He shall be looked after,” said the doctor, “and I don’t want you to do much climbing about yet. You must rest.”
Chris was silent, and took an opportunity to have a word or two with Ned before he started to climb up the narrow ways.
“That was very good of you, old chap,” whispered Ned, gripping his comrade by the left arm, with the result that Chris groaned and ground his teeth.
“Oh, you brute!” he said sharply.
“Chris!—I am sorry.”
“What’s the good of being sorry? That’s the sorest place I’ve got.”
“I didn’t know, old chap.”
“I did; and I do now,” replied Chris, rubbing the spot softly. “Never mind.”
“But I do mind. I ought to have thought. Just too when you’d offered to do my work for me so that I could stop down to breakfast.”
“Don’t say any more about it,” said Chris, with a grin of pain in his face dying out before a rather malicious smile. “They won’t let me help you one way, so I will in another. I’m precious hungry, and I won’t let your breakfast grow cold.”
“Oh, thank you, old chap. That’s very good of you, for I’m precious hungry too.”
“I thought you were,” continued Chris, looking quite solemn now. “I’ll eat your lot for you.”
For a few moments Ned’s face was a study. It was so full of dismay. Then there was a look of doubt, and directly after he had read the truth.
“Get out!” he cried, and his hand was raised to give his comrade a heavy slap on the back; but Chris cried “Murder!” and shrank away.
“Oh, I forgot again,” cried Ned hurriedly.
“You’d better be off up now, my boy,” said Bourne. “Don’t forget the glass.”
“No, father. All right,” cried the boy, and exchanging glances with Chris and following up his own with a clench of the fist, he took the binocular and hurried up to the lookout, while the rest applied themselves to the needed meal, but half-expecting to be alarmed, and impressed always by the expectation of attack, every one’s weapons being kept ready to hand.
Chris ate, as his father said laughingly, like an impostor, a remark which Griggs, who did not join them till the meal had been going on for some minutes, readily endorsed.
Chris laughed, and the remarks did not spoil his appetite; but his thoughts were busy all through, and he looked anxiously for the termination of the meal, and when all was over he turned uneasily to Griggs.
“I say,” he whispered, “oughtn’t some one to go and relieve Ned?”
“What for?” was the uncompromising response.
“What for? Why, because he must be starving.”
“Poor fellow! He must have an appetite then,” said Griggs, laughing. “Did you see what I took up to him?”
“Oh,” cried Chris remorsefully. “What a shame! Here was I thinking that every one had been selfish to the poor fellow, while all the time—”
“We had all played quite fair—you most of all. Here, how are all the aches and pains now?”
“Getting better. I have no right to make so much fuss about them and play at being in hospital.”
“You’re not, lad. You’re only doing what the doctor ordered. A fellow can’t fall nearly a mile perpendicular and slantingdicular without being a good deal shaken.”
“How far?” said Chris, laughing.
“Well, say half-a-mile.”
“What nonsense!”
“Say quarter of a mile then,” cried Griggs sharply.
“Divided by what?”
“You are hard to please. I didn’t measure the distance; but I will as soon as we’ve got rid of these precious redskins.”
“Don’t,” said Chris. “I didn’t fall far, and it was most of it sliding down.”
“Turn round,” cried the American, “and set your eyes at the very bottom of the cliff, and then run them up to the sharp edge where we saw you having that battle with your poor mustang before you went over, and then tell me again that you didn’t fall far.”
“Don’t want to,” said Chris, who looked all the same, and felt a little shiver as of something cold running down his back. “There, I’m off.”
“Where are you going? The doctor said you were to rest.”
“That’s what I’m going to do,” said Chris, “but I must go and see how my pony is.”
“Ah, well, I suppose that won’t hurt you. I’ll go up and have a chat with Ned, and see if I can mark down any of the enemy.”
They parted, and Chris walked over the rugged stones and down the slopes till he was at the bottom of the valley, with his feet brushing aside the long rich grass in which the mules were standing knee-deep, and which they neglected for the fresh green branches of the shrubs which grew thickly here and there.
“I forgot all about the snakes,” said the boy to himself; “but there can’t be any here, or the jacks wouldn’t be so quiet.”
Quiet they were, for though he walked right through the browsing herd they hardly turned their heads in his direction.
It was different when he reached the half-dozen ponies, which still kept themselves aloof as if preferring their own more aristocratic company. They were so rested and well fed that they were disposed to turn skittish, and two of them communicated their spirits to three of the others, which joined in, tossing their heads, prancing, and making a show of treating their visitor as one who was hiding bridle and bit behind him, ready to entrap and change their pleasant hour’s grazing there amongst the rich succulent grass to a mouthful of hard iron with the burden of heavy riders upon their backs.
In fact, five of the ponies contrived to keep the advancing lad at a distance, while the sixth, which had been grazing slowly, suddenly raised its head and stood staring at him.
At the first glance Chris set this down to feebleness, and looked upon it as a bad sign. But he altered his mind directly after, when he walked up to the animal’s side, patting its neck and passing its soft ears through his hand, for the poor beast whinnied softly, and slowly advanced its muzzle to rest it against the boy’s arm.
“Why, I believe you’re better, old chap,” cried Chris, as he began to examine the pony’s wounds, seeing at once that they appeared to be drying up, while when he moved a yard or two the animal followed him, limping, it is true, but not in a way that suggested permanent injury. “Why, this is cheering,” cried Chris eagerly. “I thought that you and I were never going to have a long gallop over the plains again, and now you look as if you’ll be ready for me to mount in a fortnight at the most—perhaps in a week, eh, old chap? There, I am glad. I say, I should like as soon as the Indians have gone, for you to carry me up to the head of the valley there, and then for you to show me exactly where it was that you fell, and—Hallo! What’s that?”
Chris looked round sharply, but could see nothing but the groups of grazing horses and mules.
“It sounded as if some one had thrown a stone. Can’t be Ned stalking me and up to his games, can it?—There it goes again.”
He started round to look behind him towards the terraced fortress he had left, but all was quiet there and no sign visible of Ned or any one to play any trick.
Then again something—something, he knew not what; but it was as if a pebble had fallen from the sky.
“Not going to hail, is it?” thought Chris; and then he laughed at the absurdity of the idea, for the sky was perfectly clear.
Rap!
Another something fallen from on high, but the mystery was at an end, for he not only saw it falling but where it had struck, to stick quivering and nearly upright amongst the grass.
An arrow, and from its slope it must have come from the unexplored side of the valley, and been shot high in the air for it to stand so nearly upright in the grass.
“Indians on the other side,” thought Chris, and his first thought was to run round the grazing animals and drive them towards the part where they had made their camp.
He started to do this, but stopped at once, uttering a groan of misery, for in spite of his brave effort, his run proved to be a miserable hobble, and then the agony he suffered in his side forced him to stop.
“Help! help!” he shouted hoarsely, but he felt that his cry sounded like a call to the animals amongst whom he stood, and as far as he could make out there was no one visible to heed his waving hat.
“I must fire my revolver,” he thought, and his hand went to his belt to unbutton the leather flap of the holster; but he did not withdraw the weapon, for he knew that the report would scare the poor beasts and send them galloping in all directions.
The time occupied in this was very short, but it was long enough for two more arrows to fall very near him, one nearly upright to cut its way with a sharp whizz amongst the grass and bury its head in the soft earth at an angle of forty-five degrees.
Then another idea struck Chris—tardily, for he felt that he should have thought of it at first.
Thrusting his hand into his breast, he drew forth a little chain, at the end of which was a metal whistle, and the alarm note he blew sounded piercing and shrill.
He did not stop there, but did what he felt was best. Hobbling to the side of his mustang and talking caressingly to it the while, he took hold of the thick forelock and began to lead it towards where he hoped to find safety.
The docile little animal made no opposition to being led from the pleasant pasture, but started and shivered as there came the sharp whizz of another arrow—too painful a memory to his ear—making the poor beast limp along a little faster in obedience to his master’s effort to get him away.
Then another arrow came terribly near them, and Chris whistled again, his spirits rising though, for the rest of the animals, taking in the fact of one of them being led away from either corn or water, began to neigh and squeal as they closed in after their leader, so that if there proved to be time enough before the arrows took effect, Chris felt, as he blew a long and shrill note again, that he would be able to guide the herd into safety.
“Why are they not on the lookout?” groaned the boy, for his progress was painfully slow; “they ought to see that something is wrong.” But he was ignorant of the fact that nothing was visible from the lookout but himself and the animals trotting about playfully as they kept pretty close to the wounded mustang.
An arrow again, and another, each wonderfully near, but no harm was done. Then another which fell with a dull thud, and was followed by a wild scream which startled the herd into disorder, sending the mules helter-skelter, kicking and plunging, all but one, which galloped away by itself, turning its head the while to bite at an arrow which had buried itself in its back.
That strange scream had done what Chris’s whistle failed in, drawn attention to something being wrong, while directly after a little puff of smoke darted from the upper terrace, followed by its report and the reverberation of echoes. Then another shot, and another, and no more arrows fell, though Chris in his slow progress suffered as much agony as if they had still been dropping all around.
But now the doctor came running out, followed by Wilton, and under the cover of a few more shots the little herd was driven in, slowly enough, for the wounded mule progressed more and more slowly till it hung back close alongside of Chris’s mustang, showing that it was badly hurt.
“Only enough to prove that the enemy are well on the watch,” said the doctor, after he had seen to the wounded mule, “and a warning to us that we must not relax our care.”
Griggs had by this time descended from the terrace, it having been his rifle that had put an end to the coming of the arrows.
“Hardly thought they could have shot so far,” he said; “but after all, they didn’t get an arrow much more than half-way here. Say, didn’t do you much good, Master Chris, hurrying back like that.”
“I’m afraid it’s the mustang that has suffered,” said Chris. “I didn’t hurt, only it was dreadfully hard to find that I couldn’t run.”
“You ought to be very thankful that you can walk, Chris,” said the doctor quietly. “It is next door to marvellous that you should have escaped without a broken bone. But now then, Griggs, matters begin to look serious. What is to be done?”
“That’s just what I have been thinking, sir. The enemy isn’t a bit satisfied, and the next time they begin making targets of us they may be more fortunate.”
“What I am afraid of is that they may now get upon the high ground above us here.”
“And that would be awkward, sir,” said the American thoughtfully. Then after a pause—“We’ve got the whip hand of them with our rifles.”
“Of course.”
“And we’ve shown them a little of what we can do, but not enough. There’s only one thing left now.”
“And what’s that?” asked the doctor, after a glance at his son.
“Give them such a lesson that they won’t stop to have any more, but make off into the desert.”
“That’s very good advice,” replied the doctor, “but how can it be done without risk to ourselves?”
“Let them think we daren’t stir away from here, while we wait for a few days to let some one get well again, and his nag too, while we have not been wasting time, but under the screen of hunting and shooting have been watching, and when once we have got to know where they camp, we must come upon them suddenly some night, and the rifles must do the rest.”
“Well, Chris, what do you think of that?” said the doctor, turning to where the two boys sat listening.
“Can’t be done,” said Chris shortly.
“Why?”
“How are you going to find out where they make their camp? They’re in one place to-day and another to-morrow.”
“Yes, Griggs, that is the difficulty.”
“Well, I know that, sir,” replied Griggs; “but can you think of a better plan?”
“Only that of waiting till we see them some time in the open, and then coming out to attack them.”
“Half-a-dozen of us against a hundred,” said Griggs dryly; “all mounted men who can ride as if they were part of their horses. We could shoot a good many of them, of course, but they’d be too much for us if we killed or wounded fifty of them. For how many of us would go down in doing it?”
“They could spare ten,” said Bourne, who had just sauntered up, “while we couldn’t spare one.”
“No, nor half one,” said Griggs. “What we’ve got to do, gentlemen, is something that will give them such a startler that they’ll have had enough of it; and it must be done without our getting a scratch.”
“Yes,” said the doctor; “but how?”
“That’s what we’ve got to think out, sir. We ought to be a bit cleverer than a set of savage Indians. I vote we all make up our minds to think it out. We’ve got plenty of time, for we’re all right here as to food and shelter, and can’t move for a week certain.”
“On account of Chris and the injured beasts,” said the doctor. “Very well; we must all put on our wisdom caps and puzzle it out. I’ll go and have a chat with Wilton now.”
The little meeting broke up, and Griggs went to spend his short time before going on duty in cleaning his rifle, while, as if attracted to the same spot, Chris and Ned followed him to a sheltered nook near the place where a bucket was standing ready for sending down to the running water and bringing up refilled.
Chapter Forty Eight.The Other Side.As the two boys made their way amongst the scattered stones they caught sight of the doctor stepping out on to the terrace where Wilton stood, glass in hand, scanning the opposite terraces and the sharp edge of the top, where the precipice stood out clear against the sky.“I wonder whether they’ll hit on a good idea,” said Ned. “Here, let’s sit down. I say, Griggs, you might be a good fellow and give my rifle-barrel a brush out too.”“I don’t say I won’t,” replied the American. “I might give yours a touch up too, squire. I’ll see,” he continued. “I don’t expect you’re in very good trim for pumping water through gun-barrels.”“No,” said Chris, wincing as he raised his arm and lowered it again as if passing a cleaning-rod through the piece.“Here, steady!” cried Griggs. “Don’t take yours to pieces yet. One at a time. We might want to have another shot or two at these red Robin Hoods.”“’Tisn’t likely,” said Ned.“Isn’t it? You never know what’s likely with those gentlemen. While we’re out here in the wilds we want to be always ready for action.”The American chatted away as he took his rifle to pieces, washing, carefully drying, and oiling it, in the hot sunshine, while Chris placed himself in a restful position to avoid aches and pains, and Ned leaned back against a stone with his hands behind his head, never once joining in the conversation. In fact, part of the time he seemed to be dozing, for his eyes were half-closed. At last, though, he started suddenly, made a gesture with his open hand as if catching a fly off his leg, and exclaimed—“I’ve got it!”“Kill it, then,” said Griggs, without looking up from his task. “What is it—a skeeter?”“No,” cried Ned excitedly. “The idea!”“You have?” said Chris eagerly.“Yes!”“Let’s have it, then,” said Griggs, “only be gentle. Don’t startle us too much.”“Don’t you begin sneering,” said Ned, rather haughtily. “Other people may have bright ideas too.”“I don’t know about ‘too,’” said Griggs coolly; “I’ve got none. My head has grown thick with thinking of how we’re to get out of this hole.”Ned was silent, and sat frowning.“Well, let’s have it,” said Chris.“Oh, I don’t know,” said Ned coldly. “Perhaps you’ve got a better idea of your own.”“Here, don’t make us hungry with keeping it back,” cried Chris good-humouredly. “What a fellow you are to take offence.”“Oh, I’m not offended, only I don’t think some people need be ready to jeer quite so soon.”“‘Some people,’” said Griggs softly. “That means me. Very sorry, and won’t do so any more.”“And you keep on doing it.”“Well, never mind,” said Griggs, smiling. “I’m only ’Murrican, and you know what we are. Come, let’s have your notion, squire, and if it seems a right one we’ll get out of our trouble like a shot. What was it?”“Well, I propose,” said Ned reluctantly, “that we take proper steps one night, and startle the Indians’ horses into making a stampede. It could easily be done.”“And afterwards?” said Chris quietly.“Why, ride off ourselves and get beyond the redskins’ reach. They’d have no horses to follow.”“And they’d never think of running after and catching them,” said Chris quietly.“How could they when the horses had galloped right away? They wouldn’t know which way the ponies had gone in the dark.”“But they’d find the trail in the morning, and follow it, if the job took them a week.”“Hear, hear!” cried Griggs, raising the barrels of his rifle to his eyes and looking through them as if they formed a binocular telescope.“Oh, you’re always so ready with your objections,” said Ned angrily. “Why couldn’t it be done?”“Just because it would be impossible, I’m afraid, squire,” said Griggs, polishing away now at his right barrel. “Ifyou had all the horses together, andifyou could frighten them, they might all rush off, but even if they did it wouldn’t matter much, as Chris here hints, because the Indians would follow the trail, and not lose one. Very sorry, squire. Glad if it would do; but it won’t, so try again.”Ned uttered a grunt.“You’d better try now, Chris,” he said scornfully, “and old Griggs’ll sit upon your plan directly.”Griggs breathed upon the stock of his rifle, and gave it a hard rub with his piece of rag to bring up the polish upon the walnut grain.“To be sure I will,” he said pleasantly, as he gave Chris a nod. “I’m not going to play with a job like this. Have you got anything like an idea, my lad?”“I’ve been trying to think out something,” said the boy, turning a little red in the face.“Let’s have it, then,” cried Ned.“To be sure, let’s have it,” said Griggs, looking proudly at his well-cleaned rifle, before opening the breech and slipping in a couple of cartridges. “There, that’s ready. Now, squire, I’ll have yours, please.”Ned passed his rifle, after extracting the ball-cartridge, and the American began taking it to pieces at once.“What’s your notion, my lad?” he said, turning to Chris.“I’m afraid to say anything about it,” said Chris modestly.“Why?” cried Ned.“Because it seems now that I have thought it out quite extravagant and strange.”“It can’t be worse than mine,” cried Ned bitterly. “Come, out with it. Play fair. I don’t see why I should be laughed at, and you get off scot free.”“Don’t you make yourself uncomfortable about that, squire,” said Griggs dryly. “I’ll mind and rub him wrong way if there’s nothing in it. Now then, my lad, let’s have it.”Chris was silent a minute, and then said—“One word first. My poor pony came down into the valley where I fell, but you don’t think the Indians could bring their beasts down that way, do you?”“I’m sure they couldn’t,” said Griggs, working the cleaning-rod up and down one of the barrels.“I feel sure too,” said Chris. “But do you think they could get them out again that way—I mean, out through the head of the valley?”“And I’m sure of that,” said Griggs. “They couldn’t unless they taught ’em how to fly.”“Why, of course not,” said Ned scornfully. “You know it too. Why do you ask?”“Only because I wanted to make sure,” replied Chris, “and because it has something to do with my plan.”Griggs left off pumping and squirting water, laid the barrel across his knees with his hands resting upon the former, and gazed thoughtfully in the boy’s face, while Ned seemed influenced by his companion’s manner and sat perfectly silent.“You know I went to watch for the coming of the Indians?”“Yes,” said Griggs.“And I passed by that rough jagged pillar of rock which was of a great height, in the middle of that very narrow part of the gulch. I mean where the rocks close in on both sides and overhang so that it seems dangerous to walk under them for fear they should fall.”“Oh yes, I remember it well.”“So do I,” said Ned, quietly now, for he was evidently greatly interested.“I looked at it intently, so that I got to know the place thoroughly. I can recollect all the loose stones piled-up along the sides and overhanging so that very little would make them block up the rift.”“To be sure,” said Griggs, going on with his cleaning again. “I know the spot. You might make a strong fort there in no time so as to defend the valley.”“Yes, yes, of course,” said Ned impatiently; “but go on.”“I think I’d better leave off now,” said Chris apologetically; “it seems so stupid.”“Never mind; let’s have it,” cried Griggs.“Well, this is what I thought,” continued Chris, “that if we could go up there some day and hide along the heights with our ponies and mules, and wait till the enemy came by to get into the valley, and then tumble all the rocks and stones down—”“One minute,” said Griggs. “You mean that very, very narrow bit where there’s hardly room for two mules to pass?”“Yes, that’s it; where the rocks high up nearly meet.”“Yes, I know,” cried Ned excitedly.“Well, since I’ve been thinking about all this,” said Chris, speaking more freely, “it seemed—”“One moment again,” cried Griggs, “it’s this side of the gully down which the enemy came.”“Oh yes, some hundreds of yards.”“To be sure!”“I say, Griggs, don’t keep interrupting so,” cried Ned impatiently.“Right! Go on, lad.”“I fancied,” cried Chris, “if we could hide and wait till the enemy had all ridden into the bottom of the valley, we might tumble down stones and rocks from up above till the spaces beside that middle stone were all blocked up, and we might keep on till it was made so bad that no horse could be got over.”“To be sure, nor mule neither. That’s for certain if we worked hard enough, and of course we would. Oh, yes; I could make such a bank there with a bar or a wooden lever as no pony could climb, or man either, if you come to that. Why, Chris, my lad, that’ll do.”“You don’t think it wild and foolish?” said the boy, flushing.“I think it’s grand.”“You do?”“I do, really, my lad. There’s only one thing that I can see against it.”“Ah, here it comes,” cried Ned excitedly; “I knew he’d be sure and sit upon it.”“Of course,” said Griggs, laughing, “or step upon it to see if it’ll bear our weight.”“What’s wrong, then?”“Only this,” said Griggs slowly. “How are you going to get your birds into the trap?”“Ha, ha!” laughed Ned. “To be sure. There you are, Chris: how are you going to get your birds into the trap?”Chris laughed too, but very gently.“I’ve been thinking of all that,” he said, “and I don’t quite see yet. I could manage it easily enough if there was a way out that we could climb. Then we could retreat before them some time, and they’d follow us in; and as soon as they had all ridden in the door of the trap could be closed.”“Who’s going to shut the trap?” said Ned, laughing. “Why, Chris, you’re making a bull.”“Oh no, I’m not. One or two would be enough to lead the Indians in; the others could shut the trap.”“And what about the live bait that led the Indians in?” said Ned.“They’d make for the way to get out, and climb up here.”“Well, you are a Paddy,” cried Ned, laughing heartily. “You’re going to lead the enemy in, and show them the way out again. Can’t you see that if they followed the two who acted as bait they’d come out too?”“Yes,” said Chris coolly, “but that wouldn’t matter.”“What! Why, you’re all in a fog, and can’t see your way,” cried Ned.“We’re not afraid of the Indians, and we could keep them off easily enough if we wanted to before we got back to our horses and rode away.”“But the enemy would follow,” cried Ned, grinning.“Well, suppose they did?” cried Chris; “they’d be on foot. They could climb out of the trap, but their ponies couldn’t.”Griggs laughed now, and Ned looked uncomfortable.“Oh! I see,” he drawled, very slowly. “I didn’t think of that.”“Hah!” ejaculated Griggs, who looked very thoughtful. “Yes, that might be done. I don’t know of any such place, Chris, unless we could find one somewhere up above the terraces.”“I’ve looked,” said Chris, shaking his head. “If there was a way up there it would be splendid, because we could put big stones ready, or loosen some of the steps so that we could break them away after we’d climbed up; but I can’t find anything. The cliff hangs over so.”“Was that why you were poking about so up there this morning?” said Ned.“Yes.”“Well, you might have told me.”“Yes, I might,” said Chris, smiling, “but it would have been a pity.”“Why?”“It would have spoiled your chance to have a laugh at me and call me a Paddy.”“Hah!” said Griggs again, as Ned frowned and looked annoyed. “And you couldn’t find any way up there on to the top?”“No,” said Chris rather sadly. “It would have been so easy then.”“Yes, we could have worked it then, my lad. One would have been enough. I could have carried out a nice game there, and led ’em on.”“And what about their arrows?” said Ned.“Oh, I should have had to chance them. Kept out of reach, or dodged them. I could have led ’em right in so that they wouldn’t have heard the stones being lowered down, and got right away over the top and shut the door after me, while when they saw that they couldn’t follow, and went back, they’d have found themselves shut-in.”“But—there’s—no way out over the top terrace,” said Ned mockingly.“Well, I know there isn’t,” said Griggs coolly. “I’ve looked well myself three times over, because I was afraid that the enemy might find a way down some time, and take us by surprise.”“It would have been so easy then,” sighed Chris; “but I don’t despair. We might find a way, after all, if we had a good search.”“To be sure we might,” replied Griggs, “and I think I know where.”“You do?” cried the boys together.“’M, yes, I think so,” said Griggs quietly.“Where?” cried Chris. “You don’t mean up at the head of the valley, where I came down?”“Nay! That wouldn’t do, even if there was a place. Be too far off. You want a spot where one could slip up quickly and shut the way after you so as to stop the enemy from following.”“Yes,” said Chris, shaking his head; “and that we shall never find.”“No,” cried Ned, almost triumphantly. “Your plan’s no better than mine, old chap.”“I don’t know so much about that, squire,” said Griggs, screwing up his face. “Seems to me that we can find such a way out if we try.”“Where?” cried Ned.“Over yonder, squire,” was the reply, as the American nodded his head in the direction of the terraces and openings opposite to where they sat talking.“Ah!” cried Chris excitedly. “Yes, there must, now one thinks of it, be a way down there. Some of the Indians must have got down a part of the way to send their arrows at me when I was seeing to my poor mustang.”“To be sure! Right!” cried Griggs. “I never thought of that before. Then we’ve been sleeping here with the door open, only the enemy were afraid to come.”“Then you think we could find a way up there?” said Chris, shading his eyes and looking across the valley at the perpendicular sunlit cliff full of window or door openings similar to those from which they gazed.“I’m beginning to think we could, my lad. What do you say to going across and having a search?”“Yes; let’s go at once,” cried Chris.“Aren’t you too stiff?”“Stiff? No. Come along!”At that moment Ned, who had been staring hard at the opposite terraces, suddenly caught Griggs by the arm, gripping it sharply.“What’s the matter?”“Keep quiet! Don’t move,” said the boy in a whisper, though no one could have heard from the spot at which he looked. “There’s something moving about on that top terrace across yonder.”“A bear?” said Chris eagerly.“Perhaps. No; it’s standing up now.”“Well, bears do that sometimes.”“It’s so far-off, I can’t quite make out,” said Ned excitedly. “Ah! There’s another—and another. Why, there are six or seven crawling about yonder.”“Then they’re not likely to be bears,” said Griggs. “Where’s your glass?”“Up in the lookout. I’ll go and fetch it.”“Yes, and be smart,” cried Griggs. Then, as the boy hurried away to climb up to the watching place—“I won’t give any alarm yet till we’re quite sure. But if it’s the enemy they’ve some game on there, and there’s going to be more sharp shooting. Chris, my lad, there’s no doubt about it now. There’s a way down from the top of the cliff to that top terrace yonder, and that means there must be a way up to it from below. Your plan’s cutting two ways. It’s giving us a way to get clear of the enemy, and showing us that we’ve been in greater danger than we thought for. Now see what you can make out. Your eyes are younger than mine.”“Yes, but yours are better trained to see long distances,” replied Chris, as he shaded his eyes and had a good long look, the American changing his position and doing the same.“I can only see two,” said Chris at last, “and I think they’re men.”“I can see three,” said Griggs, “and I’m not going to say I think, for I’m sure they’re Indians.”Chris’s first thought was of his mustang.“What about the mules and ponies?” he said excitedly.“I don’t think their arrows could reach them,” said Griggs thoughtfully; “but the brutes mean some mischief, and the sooner we begin to teach them that they are trespassing the better. Can you help me to take a shot at them? Or are you too stiff?”“I can manage,” said Chris, and following the American they encountered Ned returning from the lookout.“Indians,” he cried. “I’ve looked. They’re after the ponies and mules again.”“Have you given the alarm?” cried Chris anxiously.“No; I came on with the glass. Do you want to use it, Griggs?”“No,” was the reply. “I’m going to shoot, and that will give all the alarm we want.”They proceeded to the second terrace, where the movements of the Indians grew clearer, and going down behind a stone the American took a long and careful aim before firing.“Missed him,” he said angrily.The word had hardly left his lips before Chris drew his trigger, and the next moment Ned followed his example.The reports brought the rest of the party of defenders into the cell from which the firing had been directed.“Well,” said the doctor, “what is it?”He took the binocular upon hearing the explanation, but after holding it to his eyes for a few moments returned it to Griggs.“Is it a mistake?” he said.Griggs laid his cheek to his rifle, and fired again, to stand gazing across the valley for some moments before he replied—“No, sir; no mistake, and that Indian knows it.”“You hit one?”“Yes, and there were three more just appeared, but, as far as I could make out, they have all gone now.”There was a little more excitement and watching, but nothing was made out for some minutes. Then the doctor, who had seized the glass and been sweeping the opposite side of the valley in search of danger, exclaimed—“They’ve gone. Look, Bourne.” He passed the glass to the gentleman addressed. “Across the right, there, over the edge of the cliff.”“Yes, I see; a large party of them cantering away.”At that moment Griggs, who had raised the sight of his rifle, fired again after a rapid glance.“Man and horse down,” cried Bourne.“Why did you fire again when they were in full retreat?”“To give them a lesson not to come and interfere with us, sir,” said Griggs shortly. “It’s too dangerous to trifle with them, sir, and they’re getting more daring.”“Yes, I know,” said the doctor, “and I wish we could get away from this place; but I dare not stir, for the enemy would follow us and hang on to our skirts, go which way you chose.”“Young Chris had an idea about our getting away, sir,” said the man, giving the boy a wink.“An idea. I should have thought he had only one, and that was connected with getting well again. Well, what is it, Chris?”The boy explained, his face feeling like fire the while, and his father listened to the end.“Well,” he said at last, “that sounds perfectly reasonable and good. And you think we could, or you could, or whoever undertook the task, could get to the terraces yonder and escape—if there proves to be a way up there?”“Yes, father,” said Chris, flushing with excitement now. “I feel sure there is a way there.”“And you, Griggs—what do you say?”“I feel sure of it, sir; but whether we could reach it from down below here or not is another thing.”“The only way is to prove it,” said the doctor.“Now, at once, sir?” cried Griggs.“Well, yes,” said the doctor thoughtfully; “why not?”He asked the question in a tone of voice that needed no answer, and then turned to Chris.“We’ll go and examine the place, then, for the Indians must be gone.”“Oh yes,” said Griggs, “they’re gone, sure enough. But it would be as well for say two to stop here on the terrace and be ready to fire if the enemy should appear again.”This was soon arranged, Wilton and Bourne undertaking the task, while, after a good look round to make sure that no watching eyes were scrutinising their movements, the little party of four started for the other side of the depression, Chris being so insistent that he felt really well enough to be one, that the doctor shrank from leaving him behind.The task did not prove very difficult, for they had their previous experience to help them, and they were not long after reaching the foot of the cliff before finding a way up to the lowest terrace, and grasping the fact that the incident that had taken place in the part they had occupied had been repeated here. Whether before or after it was impossible to say, but they found all the traces of a desperate fight, and the defence of a brave people who had held out in cell after cell to the very end.Then the way up to the next terrace was hunted out and found half buried in stones and dust, and hidden still further by the growth of ages. Here again were the traces of the massacre, and after a hurried examination of these, half-way along the second terrace Griggs came to a sudden stop and cocked his rifle, an act immediately imitated by the rest.“Danger?” whispered the doctor.“Don’t know yet,” was the reply, “but we’re somewhere near the cells where those fellows were using their bows the other day, and where I saw them a little while ago.”He ceased speaking, and pointed downwards.“What can you see?” whispered Chris.“Trail. Moccasin-covered feet,” was the answer.The two boys would have passed that which was pointed out unseen, for the impressions in the dust were very faint to them, but plain enough to the experienced hunter, who advanced cautiously now to the opening into the cell opposite which they were now standing, and looking in, pointed out fresh footprints and, what was more, an opening at the back of the cell which, save in position, proved to be a way into just such a square cell-like place as that which had puzzled them on their own side.“No one here,” said Griggs, “but it’s not long since there was.”“Are you going on at once?” said the doctor.“Oh yes; let’s know the worst, or the best,” replied Griggs; “but one seems to know all there is to know, and it’s what we wanted. Here’s the way up to the next range of cells, and when we get up there we shall find the enemy’s trail, and that will lead right up to the cliff, without a doubt.”“Yes, there’s proof enough that if the enemy had been enterprising and gifted with brains they could have easily found their way down into the valley by a fresh way.”“Let’s go on, sir,” said Griggs. “They’ve never been lower than this; that’s evident. We’re the first who have come up that lower way, and it seems to me, Chris, that we’ve learned all we wanted. That was to find a way to the top that a fellow could get up in a hurry. Yes—look here. It’s all clear enough; and once he’s got up he’s got nothing to do but break away a step or two, and no one can follow.”Griggs was quite right. Just as it was on the other side of the valley, the square pit could be ascended by means of projecting stones, and upon these being scaled the party stood upon the flint terrace and in its range of cells, beyond which there was a step-like path going up a narrow rift, leading right to the level tableland.They all ascended, and taking care not to expose themselves, were able to sweep the great level for miles, but without seeing the slightest sign of an enemy.“It’s all right, sir,” said Griggs, as soon as they had finished their inspection. “Here’s what we want to carry out young Chris’s plan.”“Well, it does make it possible,” said the doctor thoughtfully, “but very risky for the man who is hunted by the enemy.”“Oh dear no, sir. It only wants a man to be pretty smart. I don’t see much difficulty in it.”“No, father,” said Chris; “I feel sure that I could do it.”“Nay, don’t want everything, youngster,” cried Griggs merrily; “let some one else have a chance. This job seems to be about my fit, and I propose that the doctor here picks me out, unless squire here chooses himself as the one to do it.”“Oh no,” cried Ned; “I couldn’t do it. I mean, I shan’t go. I don’t think I could do it.”“It’s a grown man’s job,” said the doctor firmly, “one that either Griggs or I will undertake. There, come down, and let’s carefully hide the way by which we came up. The enemy may come here again to get a shot at us, and if they do we must not give them a chance for growing suspicious.”“If they come, sir,” said Griggs. “I don’t think they will—at all events to-day. What they’ll try in the night no one can say. But now then, Chris, my lad, you and your mustang have got to make yourselves fit for everything. We can do nothing till you’re both quite well, and the sooner that time comes the sooner we shall be strong enough to act.”
As the two boys made their way amongst the scattered stones they caught sight of the doctor stepping out on to the terrace where Wilton stood, glass in hand, scanning the opposite terraces and the sharp edge of the top, where the precipice stood out clear against the sky.
“I wonder whether they’ll hit on a good idea,” said Ned. “Here, let’s sit down. I say, Griggs, you might be a good fellow and give my rifle-barrel a brush out too.”
“I don’t say I won’t,” replied the American. “I might give yours a touch up too, squire. I’ll see,” he continued. “I don’t expect you’re in very good trim for pumping water through gun-barrels.”
“No,” said Chris, wincing as he raised his arm and lowered it again as if passing a cleaning-rod through the piece.
“Here, steady!” cried Griggs. “Don’t take yours to pieces yet. One at a time. We might want to have another shot or two at these red Robin Hoods.”
“’Tisn’t likely,” said Ned.
“Isn’t it? You never know what’s likely with those gentlemen. While we’re out here in the wilds we want to be always ready for action.”
The American chatted away as he took his rifle to pieces, washing, carefully drying, and oiling it, in the hot sunshine, while Chris placed himself in a restful position to avoid aches and pains, and Ned leaned back against a stone with his hands behind his head, never once joining in the conversation. In fact, part of the time he seemed to be dozing, for his eyes were half-closed. At last, though, he started suddenly, made a gesture with his open hand as if catching a fly off his leg, and exclaimed—
“I’ve got it!”
“Kill it, then,” said Griggs, without looking up from his task. “What is it—a skeeter?”
“No,” cried Ned excitedly. “The idea!”
“You have?” said Chris eagerly.
“Yes!”
“Let’s have it, then,” said Griggs, “only be gentle. Don’t startle us too much.”
“Don’t you begin sneering,” said Ned, rather haughtily. “Other people may have bright ideas too.”
“I don’t know about ‘too,’” said Griggs coolly; “I’ve got none. My head has grown thick with thinking of how we’re to get out of this hole.”
Ned was silent, and sat frowning.
“Well, let’s have it,” said Chris.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Ned coldly. “Perhaps you’ve got a better idea of your own.”
“Here, don’t make us hungry with keeping it back,” cried Chris good-humouredly. “What a fellow you are to take offence.”
“Oh, I’m not offended, only I don’t think some people need be ready to jeer quite so soon.”
“‘Some people,’” said Griggs softly. “That means me. Very sorry, and won’t do so any more.”
“And you keep on doing it.”
“Well, never mind,” said Griggs, smiling. “I’m only ’Murrican, and you know what we are. Come, let’s have your notion, squire, and if it seems a right one we’ll get out of our trouble like a shot. What was it?”
“Well, I propose,” said Ned reluctantly, “that we take proper steps one night, and startle the Indians’ horses into making a stampede. It could easily be done.”
“And afterwards?” said Chris quietly.
“Why, ride off ourselves and get beyond the redskins’ reach. They’d have no horses to follow.”
“And they’d never think of running after and catching them,” said Chris quietly.
“How could they when the horses had galloped right away? They wouldn’t know which way the ponies had gone in the dark.”
“But they’d find the trail in the morning, and follow it, if the job took them a week.”
“Hear, hear!” cried Griggs, raising the barrels of his rifle to his eyes and looking through them as if they formed a binocular telescope.
“Oh, you’re always so ready with your objections,” said Ned angrily. “Why couldn’t it be done?”
“Just because it would be impossible, I’m afraid, squire,” said Griggs, polishing away now at his right barrel. “Ifyou had all the horses together, andifyou could frighten them, they might all rush off, but even if they did it wouldn’t matter much, as Chris here hints, because the Indians would follow the trail, and not lose one. Very sorry, squire. Glad if it would do; but it won’t, so try again.”
Ned uttered a grunt.
“You’d better try now, Chris,” he said scornfully, “and old Griggs’ll sit upon your plan directly.”
Griggs breathed upon the stock of his rifle, and gave it a hard rub with his piece of rag to bring up the polish upon the walnut grain.
“To be sure I will,” he said pleasantly, as he gave Chris a nod. “I’m not going to play with a job like this. Have you got anything like an idea, my lad?”
“I’ve been trying to think out something,” said the boy, turning a little red in the face.
“Let’s have it, then,” cried Ned.
“To be sure, let’s have it,” said Griggs, looking proudly at his well-cleaned rifle, before opening the breech and slipping in a couple of cartridges. “There, that’s ready. Now, squire, I’ll have yours, please.”
Ned passed his rifle, after extracting the ball-cartridge, and the American began taking it to pieces at once.
“What’s your notion, my lad?” he said, turning to Chris.
“I’m afraid to say anything about it,” said Chris modestly.
“Why?” cried Ned.
“Because it seems now that I have thought it out quite extravagant and strange.”
“It can’t be worse than mine,” cried Ned bitterly. “Come, out with it. Play fair. I don’t see why I should be laughed at, and you get off scot free.”
“Don’t you make yourself uncomfortable about that, squire,” said Griggs dryly. “I’ll mind and rub him wrong way if there’s nothing in it. Now then, my lad, let’s have it.”
Chris was silent a minute, and then said—
“One word first. My poor pony came down into the valley where I fell, but you don’t think the Indians could bring their beasts down that way, do you?”
“I’m sure they couldn’t,” said Griggs, working the cleaning-rod up and down one of the barrels.
“I feel sure too,” said Chris. “But do you think they could get them out again that way—I mean, out through the head of the valley?”
“And I’m sure of that,” said Griggs. “They couldn’t unless they taught ’em how to fly.”
“Why, of course not,” said Ned scornfully. “You know it too. Why do you ask?”
“Only because I wanted to make sure,” replied Chris, “and because it has something to do with my plan.”
Griggs left off pumping and squirting water, laid the barrel across his knees with his hands resting upon the former, and gazed thoughtfully in the boy’s face, while Ned seemed influenced by his companion’s manner and sat perfectly silent.
“You know I went to watch for the coming of the Indians?”
“Yes,” said Griggs.
“And I passed by that rough jagged pillar of rock which was of a great height, in the middle of that very narrow part of the gulch. I mean where the rocks close in on both sides and overhang so that it seems dangerous to walk under them for fear they should fall.”
“Oh yes, I remember it well.”
“So do I,” said Ned, quietly now, for he was evidently greatly interested.
“I looked at it intently, so that I got to know the place thoroughly. I can recollect all the loose stones piled-up along the sides and overhanging so that very little would make them block up the rift.”
“To be sure,” said Griggs, going on with his cleaning again. “I know the spot. You might make a strong fort there in no time so as to defend the valley.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Ned impatiently; “but go on.”
“I think I’d better leave off now,” said Chris apologetically; “it seems so stupid.”
“Never mind; let’s have it,” cried Griggs.
“Well, this is what I thought,” continued Chris, “that if we could go up there some day and hide along the heights with our ponies and mules, and wait till the enemy came by to get into the valley, and then tumble all the rocks and stones down—”
“One minute,” said Griggs. “You mean that very, very narrow bit where there’s hardly room for two mules to pass?”
“Yes, that’s it; where the rocks high up nearly meet.”
“Yes, I know,” cried Ned excitedly.
“Well, since I’ve been thinking about all this,” said Chris, speaking more freely, “it seemed—”
“One moment again,” cried Griggs, “it’s this side of the gully down which the enemy came.”
“Oh yes, some hundreds of yards.”
“To be sure!”
“I say, Griggs, don’t keep interrupting so,” cried Ned impatiently.
“Right! Go on, lad.”
“I fancied,” cried Chris, “if we could hide and wait till the enemy had all ridden into the bottom of the valley, we might tumble down stones and rocks from up above till the spaces beside that middle stone were all blocked up, and we might keep on till it was made so bad that no horse could be got over.”
“To be sure, nor mule neither. That’s for certain if we worked hard enough, and of course we would. Oh, yes; I could make such a bank there with a bar or a wooden lever as no pony could climb, or man either, if you come to that. Why, Chris, my lad, that’ll do.”
“You don’t think it wild and foolish?” said the boy, flushing.
“I think it’s grand.”
“You do?”
“I do, really, my lad. There’s only one thing that I can see against it.”
“Ah, here it comes,” cried Ned excitedly; “I knew he’d be sure and sit upon it.”
“Of course,” said Griggs, laughing, “or step upon it to see if it’ll bear our weight.”
“What’s wrong, then?”
“Only this,” said Griggs slowly. “How are you going to get your birds into the trap?”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Ned. “To be sure. There you are, Chris: how are you going to get your birds into the trap?”
Chris laughed too, but very gently.
“I’ve been thinking of all that,” he said, “and I don’t quite see yet. I could manage it easily enough if there was a way out that we could climb. Then we could retreat before them some time, and they’d follow us in; and as soon as they had all ridden in the door of the trap could be closed.”
“Who’s going to shut the trap?” said Ned, laughing. “Why, Chris, you’re making a bull.”
“Oh no, I’m not. One or two would be enough to lead the Indians in; the others could shut the trap.”
“And what about the live bait that led the Indians in?” said Ned.
“They’d make for the way to get out, and climb up here.”
“Well, you are a Paddy,” cried Ned, laughing heartily. “You’re going to lead the enemy in, and show them the way out again. Can’t you see that if they followed the two who acted as bait they’d come out too?”
“Yes,” said Chris coolly, “but that wouldn’t matter.”
“What! Why, you’re all in a fog, and can’t see your way,” cried Ned.
“We’re not afraid of the Indians, and we could keep them off easily enough if we wanted to before we got back to our horses and rode away.”
“But the enemy would follow,” cried Ned, grinning.
“Well, suppose they did?” cried Chris; “they’d be on foot. They could climb out of the trap, but their ponies couldn’t.”
Griggs laughed now, and Ned looked uncomfortable.
“Oh! I see,” he drawled, very slowly. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Griggs, who looked very thoughtful. “Yes, that might be done. I don’t know of any such place, Chris, unless we could find one somewhere up above the terraces.”
“I’ve looked,” said Chris, shaking his head. “If there was a way up there it would be splendid, because we could put big stones ready, or loosen some of the steps so that we could break them away after we’d climbed up; but I can’t find anything. The cliff hangs over so.”
“Was that why you were poking about so up there this morning?” said Ned.
“Yes.”
“Well, you might have told me.”
“Yes, I might,” said Chris, smiling, “but it would have been a pity.”
“Why?”
“It would have spoiled your chance to have a laugh at me and call me a Paddy.”
“Hah!” said Griggs again, as Ned frowned and looked annoyed. “And you couldn’t find any way up there on to the top?”
“No,” said Chris rather sadly. “It would have been so easy then.”
“Yes, we could have worked it then, my lad. One would have been enough. I could have carried out a nice game there, and led ’em on.”
“And what about their arrows?” said Ned.
“Oh, I should have had to chance them. Kept out of reach, or dodged them. I could have led ’em right in so that they wouldn’t have heard the stones being lowered down, and got right away over the top and shut the door after me, while when they saw that they couldn’t follow, and went back, they’d have found themselves shut-in.”
“But—there’s—no way out over the top terrace,” said Ned mockingly.
“Well, I know there isn’t,” said Griggs coolly. “I’ve looked well myself three times over, because I was afraid that the enemy might find a way down some time, and take us by surprise.”
“It would have been so easy then,” sighed Chris; “but I don’t despair. We might find a way, after all, if we had a good search.”
“To be sure we might,” replied Griggs, “and I think I know where.”
“You do?” cried the boys together.
“’M, yes, I think so,” said Griggs quietly.
“Where?” cried Chris. “You don’t mean up at the head of the valley, where I came down?”
“Nay! That wouldn’t do, even if there was a place. Be too far off. You want a spot where one could slip up quickly and shut the way after you so as to stop the enemy from following.”
“Yes,” said Chris, shaking his head; “and that we shall never find.”
“No,” cried Ned, almost triumphantly. “Your plan’s no better than mine, old chap.”
“I don’t know so much about that, squire,” said Griggs, screwing up his face. “Seems to me that we can find such a way out if we try.”
“Where?” cried Ned.
“Over yonder, squire,” was the reply, as the American nodded his head in the direction of the terraces and openings opposite to where they sat talking.
“Ah!” cried Chris excitedly. “Yes, there must, now one thinks of it, be a way down there. Some of the Indians must have got down a part of the way to send their arrows at me when I was seeing to my poor mustang.”
“To be sure! Right!” cried Griggs. “I never thought of that before. Then we’ve been sleeping here with the door open, only the enemy were afraid to come.”
“Then you think we could find a way up there?” said Chris, shading his eyes and looking across the valley at the perpendicular sunlit cliff full of window or door openings similar to those from which they gazed.
“I’m beginning to think we could, my lad. What do you say to going across and having a search?”
“Yes; let’s go at once,” cried Chris.
“Aren’t you too stiff?”
“Stiff? No. Come along!”
At that moment Ned, who had been staring hard at the opposite terraces, suddenly caught Griggs by the arm, gripping it sharply.
“What’s the matter?”
“Keep quiet! Don’t move,” said the boy in a whisper, though no one could have heard from the spot at which he looked. “There’s something moving about on that top terrace across yonder.”
“A bear?” said Chris eagerly.
“Perhaps. No; it’s standing up now.”
“Well, bears do that sometimes.”
“It’s so far-off, I can’t quite make out,” said Ned excitedly. “Ah! There’s another—and another. Why, there are six or seven crawling about yonder.”
“Then they’re not likely to be bears,” said Griggs. “Where’s your glass?”
“Up in the lookout. I’ll go and fetch it.”
“Yes, and be smart,” cried Griggs. Then, as the boy hurried away to climb up to the watching place—“I won’t give any alarm yet till we’re quite sure. But if it’s the enemy they’ve some game on there, and there’s going to be more sharp shooting. Chris, my lad, there’s no doubt about it now. There’s a way down from the top of the cliff to that top terrace yonder, and that means there must be a way up to it from below. Your plan’s cutting two ways. It’s giving us a way to get clear of the enemy, and showing us that we’ve been in greater danger than we thought for. Now see what you can make out. Your eyes are younger than mine.”
“Yes, but yours are better trained to see long distances,” replied Chris, as he shaded his eyes and had a good long look, the American changing his position and doing the same.
“I can only see two,” said Chris at last, “and I think they’re men.”
“I can see three,” said Griggs, “and I’m not going to say I think, for I’m sure they’re Indians.”
Chris’s first thought was of his mustang.
“What about the mules and ponies?” he said excitedly.
“I don’t think their arrows could reach them,” said Griggs thoughtfully; “but the brutes mean some mischief, and the sooner we begin to teach them that they are trespassing the better. Can you help me to take a shot at them? Or are you too stiff?”
“I can manage,” said Chris, and following the American they encountered Ned returning from the lookout.
“Indians,” he cried. “I’ve looked. They’re after the ponies and mules again.”
“Have you given the alarm?” cried Chris anxiously.
“No; I came on with the glass. Do you want to use it, Griggs?”
“No,” was the reply. “I’m going to shoot, and that will give all the alarm we want.”
They proceeded to the second terrace, where the movements of the Indians grew clearer, and going down behind a stone the American took a long and careful aim before firing.
“Missed him,” he said angrily.
The word had hardly left his lips before Chris drew his trigger, and the next moment Ned followed his example.
The reports brought the rest of the party of defenders into the cell from which the firing had been directed.
“Well,” said the doctor, “what is it?”
He took the binocular upon hearing the explanation, but after holding it to his eyes for a few moments returned it to Griggs.
“Is it a mistake?” he said.
Griggs laid his cheek to his rifle, and fired again, to stand gazing across the valley for some moments before he replied—
“No, sir; no mistake, and that Indian knows it.”
“You hit one?”
“Yes, and there were three more just appeared, but, as far as I could make out, they have all gone now.”
There was a little more excitement and watching, but nothing was made out for some minutes. Then the doctor, who had seized the glass and been sweeping the opposite side of the valley in search of danger, exclaimed—
“They’ve gone. Look, Bourne.” He passed the glass to the gentleman addressed. “Across the right, there, over the edge of the cliff.”
“Yes, I see; a large party of them cantering away.”
At that moment Griggs, who had raised the sight of his rifle, fired again after a rapid glance.
“Man and horse down,” cried Bourne.
“Why did you fire again when they were in full retreat?”
“To give them a lesson not to come and interfere with us, sir,” said Griggs shortly. “It’s too dangerous to trifle with them, sir, and they’re getting more daring.”
“Yes, I know,” said the doctor, “and I wish we could get away from this place; but I dare not stir, for the enemy would follow us and hang on to our skirts, go which way you chose.”
“Young Chris had an idea about our getting away, sir,” said the man, giving the boy a wink.
“An idea. I should have thought he had only one, and that was connected with getting well again. Well, what is it, Chris?”
The boy explained, his face feeling like fire the while, and his father listened to the end.
“Well,” he said at last, “that sounds perfectly reasonable and good. And you think we could, or you could, or whoever undertook the task, could get to the terraces yonder and escape—if there proves to be a way up there?”
“Yes, father,” said Chris, flushing with excitement now. “I feel sure there is a way there.”
“And you, Griggs—what do you say?”
“I feel sure of it, sir; but whether we could reach it from down below here or not is another thing.”
“The only way is to prove it,” said the doctor.
“Now, at once, sir?” cried Griggs.
“Well, yes,” said the doctor thoughtfully; “why not?”
He asked the question in a tone of voice that needed no answer, and then turned to Chris.
“We’ll go and examine the place, then, for the Indians must be gone.”
“Oh yes,” said Griggs, “they’re gone, sure enough. But it would be as well for say two to stop here on the terrace and be ready to fire if the enemy should appear again.”
This was soon arranged, Wilton and Bourne undertaking the task, while, after a good look round to make sure that no watching eyes were scrutinising their movements, the little party of four started for the other side of the depression, Chris being so insistent that he felt really well enough to be one, that the doctor shrank from leaving him behind.
The task did not prove very difficult, for they had their previous experience to help them, and they were not long after reaching the foot of the cliff before finding a way up to the lowest terrace, and grasping the fact that the incident that had taken place in the part they had occupied had been repeated here. Whether before or after it was impossible to say, but they found all the traces of a desperate fight, and the defence of a brave people who had held out in cell after cell to the very end.
Then the way up to the next terrace was hunted out and found half buried in stones and dust, and hidden still further by the growth of ages. Here again were the traces of the massacre, and after a hurried examination of these, half-way along the second terrace Griggs came to a sudden stop and cocked his rifle, an act immediately imitated by the rest.
“Danger?” whispered the doctor.
“Don’t know yet,” was the reply, “but we’re somewhere near the cells where those fellows were using their bows the other day, and where I saw them a little while ago.”
He ceased speaking, and pointed downwards.
“What can you see?” whispered Chris.
“Trail. Moccasin-covered feet,” was the answer.
The two boys would have passed that which was pointed out unseen, for the impressions in the dust were very faint to them, but plain enough to the experienced hunter, who advanced cautiously now to the opening into the cell opposite which they were now standing, and looking in, pointed out fresh footprints and, what was more, an opening at the back of the cell which, save in position, proved to be a way into just such a square cell-like place as that which had puzzled them on their own side.
“No one here,” said Griggs, “but it’s not long since there was.”
“Are you going on at once?” said the doctor.
“Oh yes; let’s know the worst, or the best,” replied Griggs; “but one seems to know all there is to know, and it’s what we wanted. Here’s the way up to the next range of cells, and when we get up there we shall find the enemy’s trail, and that will lead right up to the cliff, without a doubt.”
“Yes, there’s proof enough that if the enemy had been enterprising and gifted with brains they could have easily found their way down into the valley by a fresh way.”
“Let’s go on, sir,” said Griggs. “They’ve never been lower than this; that’s evident. We’re the first who have come up that lower way, and it seems to me, Chris, that we’ve learned all we wanted. That was to find a way to the top that a fellow could get up in a hurry. Yes—look here. It’s all clear enough; and once he’s got up he’s got nothing to do but break away a step or two, and no one can follow.”
Griggs was quite right. Just as it was on the other side of the valley, the square pit could be ascended by means of projecting stones, and upon these being scaled the party stood upon the flint terrace and in its range of cells, beyond which there was a step-like path going up a narrow rift, leading right to the level tableland.
They all ascended, and taking care not to expose themselves, were able to sweep the great level for miles, but without seeing the slightest sign of an enemy.
“It’s all right, sir,” said Griggs, as soon as they had finished their inspection. “Here’s what we want to carry out young Chris’s plan.”
“Well, it does make it possible,” said the doctor thoughtfully, “but very risky for the man who is hunted by the enemy.”
“Oh dear no, sir. It only wants a man to be pretty smart. I don’t see much difficulty in it.”
“No, father,” said Chris; “I feel sure that I could do it.”
“Nay, don’t want everything, youngster,” cried Griggs merrily; “let some one else have a chance. This job seems to be about my fit, and I propose that the doctor here picks me out, unless squire here chooses himself as the one to do it.”
“Oh no,” cried Ned; “I couldn’t do it. I mean, I shan’t go. I don’t think I could do it.”
“It’s a grown man’s job,” said the doctor firmly, “one that either Griggs or I will undertake. There, come down, and let’s carefully hide the way by which we came up. The enemy may come here again to get a shot at us, and if they do we must not give them a chance for growing suspicious.”
“If they come, sir,” said Griggs. “I don’t think they will—at all events to-day. What they’ll try in the night no one can say. But now then, Chris, my lad, you and your mustang have got to make yourselves fit for everything. We can do nothing till you’re both quite well, and the sooner that time comes the sooner we shall be strong enough to act.”