Chapter Thirty Three.

Chapter Thirty Three.Mourning lost Friends.The failure of the Beaver and his follower to put in an appearance made Bart’s heart sink down like lead, while Joses turned to him with a dull look of misery in his eye.“It’s bad, Master Bart,” he said; “it’s very bad. I hates all Indians as hard as ever I can hate ’em, but somehow the Beaver and me seemed to get on well together, and if I’d knowed what was going to happen, it isn’t me as would have come away and left him in the lurch.”“No, Joses, neither would I,” said Bart, bitterly. “But do you think—”“Do I think he has escaped, my lad?” said Joses, sadly, for Bart could not finish his speech; “no, I don’t. The savage creatures came upon him sudden, or they knocked him over with a bullet, and he has died like an Indian warrior should.”“No,” said a sharp voice behind them; and the interpreter stood there with flashing eyes gazing angrily at the speakers. “No,” he cried again, “the Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth is too strong for the miserable Apaché. He will come back. They could not kill a warrior like that.”“Well, I hope you’re right, Mr Interpreter,” growled Joses. “I hope you are right, but I shall not believe it till I see him come.”There was no time for further conversation, the approach of the enemies being imminent. On the one side, far out on the plain, were scattered bodies of the Apachés, evidently in full war-paint, riding about in some kind of evolution; and, as the Doctor could see with his glass, for the most part armed with spears.Some of the men bore the strong short bow that had been in use among them from time immemorial, and these could be made out by the thick quiver they had slung over their backs. But, generally speaking, each Indian carried a good serviceable rifle, pieces of which they could make deadly use.At present there seemed to be no intention of making an immediate attack, the Indians keeping well out in the plain beyond the reach of rifle-ball, though every now and then they gathered together, and as if at the word of command, swept over the ground like a whirlwind, and seemed bent upon charging right up to the mountain.This, however, they did not do, but turned off each time and rode back into the plain.“Why do they do that, Joses?” said Bart, eagerly.“To see all they can of our defences, my lad. They’ll come on foot at last like the others are doing, though I don’t think they’ll manage a very great deal this time.”For the party from the canyon, now swollen to nearly fifty men, were slowly approaching from the direction of the chimney, and making use of every tuft, and bush, and rock, affording Bart a fine view from the gallery of the clever and cunning means an Indian will adopt to get within shot of an enemy.They had crept on and on till they were so near that from the hiding-place in the gallery which protected the cattle Joses could have shot them one by one as they came along, the men being quite ignorant of the existence of such a defence, as nothing was visible from the face of the rock.“I shan’t fire so long as they don’t touch the horses or the cattle,” said Joses, “though perhaps I ought to, seeing how they have killed our best friend. Somehow, though, I don’t feel to like shooting a man behind his back as it were. If they were firing away at us the thing would be different. I could fire them it back again then pretty sharply, I can tell you!”Joses soon had occasion to use his rifle, for, finding themselves unmolested, the Indians took advantage of every bit of cover they could find; and when this ceased, and there was nothing before them but a patch of open plain, they suddenly darted forward right up to the cattle corral, the tracks of the animals going to and fro plainly telling them the entrance, as the odour did the men who had crept up by night.Reaching this, they made a bold effort to get an opening big enough for the cattle to be driven out; but without waiting for orders, the Indians in the rock gallery opened fire, and Joses and Bart caught the infection, the latter feeling a fierce kind of desire to avenge his friend the Beaver.The rifle-shots acted like magic, sending the Apachés back to cover, where they began to return the fire briskly enough, though they did no more harm than to flatten their bullets, some of which dropped harmlessly into the rifle-pits, and were coolly appropriated by the Beaver’s followers for melting down anew.“Don’t shoot, my lads,” said Joses before long; “it is only wasting ammunition. They are too well under cover. Let them fire away as long as they like, and you can pick up the lead as soon as they are gone.”The interpreter told his fellows Joses’ words, and they ceased firing without a moment’s hesitation, and crouched there with their white friends, listening to the loud crack of the Apachés’ rifles, and the almost simultaneousfat! of the bullet against the rock.Not a man in the gallery was injured in the slightest degree, while, as soon as he had got over a sort of nervous feeling that was the result of being shot at without the excitement of being able to return the fire, Bart lay watching the actions of the Apachés, and the senseless way in which they kept on firing at the spots where they fancied that their enemies might be.The cover they had made for was partly scrubby brush and partly masses of stone lying singly in the plain, and it was curious to watch an Indian making his attack. First the barrel of his rifle would be protruded over some rugged part of the stone, then very slowly a feather or two would appear, and then, if the spot was very closely watched, a narrow patch of brown forehead and a glancing eye could be seen. Then where the eye had appeared was shut out by the puff of white smoke that suddenly spirted into the air; and as it lifted, grew thin, and died away, Bart could see that the barrel of the rifle had gone, and its owner was no doubt lying flat down behind the piece of rock, which looked as if no Indian had been near it for years.Five minutes later the muzzle of the rifle would slowly appear from quite a different part, and so low down that it was evident the Apaché was lying almost upon his face. This time perhaps Bart would note that all at once a little patch of dry grass would appear, growing up as it were in a second, as the Indian balanced it upon the barrel of his piece, making it effectually screen his face, while it was thin and open enough for him to take aim at the place from whence he had seen flashes of fire come.Bart saw a score of such tricks as this, and how a patch of sage-brush, that looked as if it would not hide a prairie dog began to send out flashes of fire and puffs of smoke, telling plainly enough that there was an Indian safely ensconced therein.The Apachés’ attitudes, too, excited his wonder, for they fired face downwards, lying on their sides or their backs, and always from places where there had been no enemy a minute before; while, when he was weary of watching these dismounted men at their ineffective toil, there were their friends out in the plain, who kept on swooping down after leaving their spears stuck in the earth a mile away. They would gallop to within easy range, and then turning their horses’ heads, canter along parallel with the mountain, throw themselves sidewise on the flank of their horse farthest from the place attacked, take aim and fire beneath the animal’s neck, their own bodies being completely hidden by the horse. It is almost needless to say that the shots they fired never did any harm, the position, the bad aim, and the motion of the horse being sufficient to send the bullets flying in the wildest way, either into the plain or high up somewhere on the face of the rock.All at once this desultory, almost unresisted attack came to an end, as a fresh body of Indians cantered up; many of the latter leading horses, to which the attacking party from the canyon now made their way; and just at sundown the whole body galloped off, without so much as giving the beleaguered ones a farewell shot.Bart watched them go off in excellent order right away out into the plain, the orange rays of the setting sun seeming to turn the half-nude figures into living bronze. Then the desert began to grow dim, the sky to darken, a few stars to peep out in the pale grey arch, and after a party had been deputed to keep watch, this intermission in the attack was seized upon as the time for making a hearty meal, the sentries not being forgotten.“And now, Bart,” said the Doctor, “I shall keep the gate myself to-night with half a dozen men. I should like you and Joses to watch in the gallery once more with the Beaver’s men. These Apachés will be back again to-night to try and drive off the capital prize, if they could get it, of our cattle.”“Very good, sir,” said Bart, cheerily; “I’ll watch.”“So will I,” growled Joses.“I wish you had the Beaver to help you. Poor fellow!” said the Doctor, sadly; “his was a wonderful eye. The interpreter will become chief now, I suppose.”“Perhaps so, sir,” said Bart; “but he says that the Beaver is not dead, but will come back.”“I would he spoke the truth,” said the Doctor, sadly. “The poor fellow died that we might be saved, like a hero. But there, we have no time for repining. Let us get well into our places before dark. Joses, can you be a true prophet?” he added.“What about, master?” said the frontiersman.“And tell me when I may be allowed to mine my silver in peace?”“No, master, I’m not prophet enough for that. If you killed off all these Injun, you might do it for a time, but ’fore long a fresh lot would have sprung up, and things would be as bad as ever. Seems to me finding silver’s as bad as keeping cattle. Come along, Master Bart. I wish we had some of them salmon we speared.”“Never mind the salmon,” said Bart, smiling; “we escaped with our lives;” and leading the way, they were soon ensconced in their places, watching the darkness creep over the plain like a thick veil, while the great clusters of stars came out and shone through the clear air till the sky was like frosted gold.“Do you think the Apachés will come again to-night?” said Bart, after an hour’s silence.“Can’t say, my lad. No, I should say. Yes, I should say,” he whispered back; “and there they are.”As he spoke, he levelled his rifle at the first of two dusky figures that had appeared out in the plain, rising as it were out of the earth; but before he could fire, there was a hand laid upon his shoulder, and another raised the barrel of his piece.“Treachery!” shouted Joses. “Bart, Master Bart, quick—help!”There was a fierce struggle for a few moments, and then Joses loosened his hold and uttered an exclamation full of vexed impatience.“It’s all right, Master Bart,” he cried. “Here, give us your hand, old Speak English,” he added, clapping the interpreter on the shoulder, “it’s of no use for us English to think of seeing like you, Injun.”“What does all this mean, Joses?” whispered Bart, excitedly, for it seemed marvellous that two Indians should be allowed to come up to their stronghold unmolested.“Why, don’t you see, my lad,” cried Joses, “Beaver and his chap arn’t dead after all. There they are down yonder; that’s them.”Bart leaped up, and forgetful of the proximity of enemies, waved his cap and shouted: “Beaver, ahoy! hurrah!”The two Indians responded with a cheery whoop, and ran up to the rocks, while Bart communicated the news to the Doctor and his fellow-guardians of the gate, where the lad pushed himself to the front, so as to be the first to welcome the chief back to their stronghold—a welcome the more warm after the belief that had been current since his non-return.The Doctor’s grasp was so friendly that the chief seemed almost moved, and nodding quietly in his dignified way, he seated himself in silence to partake of the refreshments pressed upon him by his friends.“The Apaché dogs must live longer and learn more before they can teach the Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth,” said the interpreter scornfully to Joses.“I’m very glad of it,” said the latter, heartily. “I hate Injun, but somehow I don’t hate the Beaver and you, old Speak English, half—no, not a quarter—so much as I do some of ’em. I say, how could you tell in the dark that it was the Beaver?”“Speak English has eyes,” said the Indian, accepting the nickname Joses gave him without a moment’s hesitation. “Speak English uses his eyes. They see in the dark, like a puma or panther, as much as yours see in the sunshine.”“Well, I suppose they do,” said Joses, with a sigh. “I used to think, too, that I could see pretty well.”They were back now in the gallery, keeping a steady watch out towards the plain, Bart being with them, and all were most anxiously waiting till the Beaver and his companion should come; for they were steadily endeavouring to make up for a very long fast to an extent that would astound an Englishman who saw a half-starved Indian eating for the first time. Joses and Bart made no scruple about expressing their wonder as to how it was that the Beaver had managed to escape; but the interpreter and his fellows hazarded no conjecture whatever. They took it for granted that their clever chief would be sure to outwit the Apachés, and so it had proved.At last the Beaver came gliding softly into their midst, taking his place in the watch as if nothing whatever had happened; and in reply to Bart’s eager inquiries, he first of all raised himself up and took a long and searching survey of the plain.This done, he drew the interpreter’s attention to something that had attracted his own notice, and seemed to ask his opinion. Then the Indian changed his position, and sheltering his eyes from the starlight, also took a long searching look, ending by subsiding into his place with a long, low ejaculation that ended like a sigh.“That means it is all right,” whispered Joses.“Yes; all right,” said the Beaver, turning his dark face toward them, and showing his white teeth, as if pleased at being able to comprehend their speech.“Then now tell us, Beaver, how it was you managed to get away.”Without following the chief’s halting delivery of his adventures in English, it is sufficient to say that he and his follower kept the Apachés back as they made attempt after attempt to ascend the chimney, shooting several, and so maddening the rest that they forgot their usual cautious methods of approach, and at last gathered together, evidently meaning to make a headlong rush.This, the Beaver knew, meant that he and his man must be overpowered or shot down before they could reach the pathway of the natural fort, so cunning was brought to bear to give them time.He knew that the Apachés would be sure to spend some few minutes in firing, partly to distract their enemies and partly to give them the cover of abundant smoke for their approach before they made their final rush; and taking off his feather head-gear, he secured it with a couple of stones so near the top of the rock which sheltered him and his companion that the eagle plumes could be seen by the Apachés as they gathered below.His companion did the same, and as soon as this was done, they broke away from their hiding-place, and ran a few yards over the soft, sandy soil at the edge of the patch of forest, to some rocks, making deep impressions with their moccasins. Then, taking a few bounds along the hard rock, they found a suitable place, and there the Beaver bent down, his follower leaped upon his shoulders, and he walked quickly backward into the forest.“And so made only one trail!” cried Bart, excitedly.“And that one coming from the trees if the Apachés should find it,” said Joses, grinning. “Well, you are a clever one, Beaver, and no mistake.”To put the chiefs words in plain English:“We had only just got into cover when we heard the firing begin very sharply, and knowing that there was not a moment to lose, we backed slowly in among the trees till it grew stony, and our moccasins made no sign, and then my young man stepped down, and we crept from cover to cover, stopping to listen to the yelling and howling of the dogs, when they found only our feathers; and then we seemed to see them as they rushed off over the plain, meaning to catch us before we were in safety. But the dogs are like blind puppies. They have no sense. They could not find our trail. They never knew that we were behind them in the forest; and there we hid, making ourselves a strong place on the edge of the canyon, where we could wait until they had gone; and when at last they had gone, and all was safe, we came on, and we are here.”“They wouldn’t have escaped you like that, would they, Beaver?” said Bart, after shaking hands once more warmly, and telling him how glad he was to see him back.“Escaped me?” said the Beaver, scornfully; “there is not one of my young men who would have been trifled with like that.”This he said in the Indian tongue, and there was a chorus of assenting ejaculations.“But the Apachés are blind dogs, and children,” he went on, speaking with bitter contempt. “They fight because they are so many that one encourages the other, but they are not brave, and they are not warriors. The young men of the Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth are all warriors, and laugh at the Apachés, for it takes fifty of them to fight one of my braves.”He held up his hand to command silence after this, and then pointed out into the plain.“Can you see anything, Joses?” whispered Bart.“Not a sign of anything but dry buffler grass and sage-brush. No; it’s of no use, Master Bart, I’ve only got four-mile eyes, and these Injun have got ten-mile eyes. Natur’s made ’em so, and it’s of no use to fight again it. ’Tis their natur to, and it arn’t our natur to, so all we can do is to use good medicine.”“Why, you don’t think that physic would do our eyes any good, do you, Joses?” whispered Bart.“Physic, no! I said medicine,” chuckled Joses.“Well, what’s the difference?” replied Bart.“Difference enough. I meant Injun’s medicine, as they call it. Didn’t the Beaver say that the master’s glass was all good medicine? He thought it was a sort of conjuring trick like their medicine-men do when they are making rain come, or are driving out spirits, as they call it. No; we can’t help our eyes being queer, my lad, but we can use medicine spy-glasses, and see farther than the Injun. Hold your tongue; he’s making signs.”For the Beaver had held up his hand again to command silence. Then he drew Bart towards him, and pointed outwards.“Apaché dogs,” he whispered. “Young chief Bart, see?”“No,” replied the lad, after gazing intently for some time; and then, without a word, he glided off along the narrow, rocky, well-sheltered path, and made his way to the Doctor, who, with his men, was upon thequi vive.“Well, Bart, what is it?” he said, eagerly.“The Beaver can see Apachés on the plain.”“A night attack, eh?” said the Doctor. “Well, we shall be ready for them. Why have you come—to give us warning?”“I came first for the glass,” replied Bart. “I’ll send you notice if they appear likely to attack, sir.”“Then I hope you will not have to send the notice, my lad,” said the Doctor, “for I don’t like fighting in the dark.”As he spoke he handed the glass, and Bart returned to the gallery.“Are they still there?” he whispered.“Yes; Apaché dogs,” was the reply. “Good medicine.”“They won’t find it so,” growled Joses, “if they come close up here, for my rifle has got to be hungry again. I’m ’bout tired of not being left peaceable and alone, and my rifle’s like me—it means to bite.”As he crouched there muttering and thinking of the narrow escapes they had had, Bart carefully focussed the glass, no easy task in the deep gloom that surrounded them; and after several tries he saw something which made him utter an ejaculation full of wonder.“What is it, my lad?” whispered Joses.“The young chief sees the Apaché dogs?” said the interpreter.“Yes,” exclaimed Bart; “the plain swarms with them.”“Then they’re gathering for a big attack in the morning,” said Joses. “Are they mounted?”“Yes, all of them. I can just make them out crossing the plain.”“Well, their horses are only good to run away on,” growled Joses; “they can’t ride up this mountain. Let me have a look, my lad.”Bart handed the glass, and Joses took a long, eager look through, at the gathering of Apaché warriors.“I tell you what,” he said, “we shall have to look out or they’ll drive off every head of cattle and every leg of horse. They’re as cunning as cunning, I don’t care what any one says, and some of these days we shall open our eyes and find ourselves in a pretty mess.”“The Apaché dogs shall not have the horses,” said the Beaver fiercely.“That’s right; don’t let ’em have them,” cried Joses. “I don’t want ’em to go; but here’s one thing I should like answered—How are we going to find ’em in pasture with all these wild beasts hanging about, ready to swoop down and make a stampede of it, and drive them off?”“The Beaver’s young men will drive the horses and cattle out,” said the Beaver, in tones of quiet confidence, “and bring them back again quite safe.”“If you can do that,” said Joses, “perhaps we can hold out; but it don’t seem likely that we shall get much salmon from down in the canyon yonder, which is a pity, for I’ve took to quite longing for a bit of that; and if the Apaché don’t take care, I shall have some yet.”

The failure of the Beaver and his follower to put in an appearance made Bart’s heart sink down like lead, while Joses turned to him with a dull look of misery in his eye.

“It’s bad, Master Bart,” he said; “it’s very bad. I hates all Indians as hard as ever I can hate ’em, but somehow the Beaver and me seemed to get on well together, and if I’d knowed what was going to happen, it isn’t me as would have come away and left him in the lurch.”

“No, Joses, neither would I,” said Bart, bitterly. “But do you think—”

“Do I think he has escaped, my lad?” said Joses, sadly, for Bart could not finish his speech; “no, I don’t. The savage creatures came upon him sudden, or they knocked him over with a bullet, and he has died like an Indian warrior should.”

“No,” said a sharp voice behind them; and the interpreter stood there with flashing eyes gazing angrily at the speakers. “No,” he cried again, “the Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth is too strong for the miserable Apaché. He will come back. They could not kill a warrior like that.”

“Well, I hope you’re right, Mr Interpreter,” growled Joses. “I hope you are right, but I shall not believe it till I see him come.”

There was no time for further conversation, the approach of the enemies being imminent. On the one side, far out on the plain, were scattered bodies of the Apachés, evidently in full war-paint, riding about in some kind of evolution; and, as the Doctor could see with his glass, for the most part armed with spears.

Some of the men bore the strong short bow that had been in use among them from time immemorial, and these could be made out by the thick quiver they had slung over their backs. But, generally speaking, each Indian carried a good serviceable rifle, pieces of which they could make deadly use.

At present there seemed to be no intention of making an immediate attack, the Indians keeping well out in the plain beyond the reach of rifle-ball, though every now and then they gathered together, and as if at the word of command, swept over the ground like a whirlwind, and seemed bent upon charging right up to the mountain.

This, however, they did not do, but turned off each time and rode back into the plain.

“Why do they do that, Joses?” said Bart, eagerly.

“To see all they can of our defences, my lad. They’ll come on foot at last like the others are doing, though I don’t think they’ll manage a very great deal this time.”

For the party from the canyon, now swollen to nearly fifty men, were slowly approaching from the direction of the chimney, and making use of every tuft, and bush, and rock, affording Bart a fine view from the gallery of the clever and cunning means an Indian will adopt to get within shot of an enemy.

They had crept on and on till they were so near that from the hiding-place in the gallery which protected the cattle Joses could have shot them one by one as they came along, the men being quite ignorant of the existence of such a defence, as nothing was visible from the face of the rock.

“I shan’t fire so long as they don’t touch the horses or the cattle,” said Joses, “though perhaps I ought to, seeing how they have killed our best friend. Somehow, though, I don’t feel to like shooting a man behind his back as it were. If they were firing away at us the thing would be different. I could fire them it back again then pretty sharply, I can tell you!”

Joses soon had occasion to use his rifle, for, finding themselves unmolested, the Indians took advantage of every bit of cover they could find; and when this ceased, and there was nothing before them but a patch of open plain, they suddenly darted forward right up to the cattle corral, the tracks of the animals going to and fro plainly telling them the entrance, as the odour did the men who had crept up by night.

Reaching this, they made a bold effort to get an opening big enough for the cattle to be driven out; but without waiting for orders, the Indians in the rock gallery opened fire, and Joses and Bart caught the infection, the latter feeling a fierce kind of desire to avenge his friend the Beaver.

The rifle-shots acted like magic, sending the Apachés back to cover, where they began to return the fire briskly enough, though they did no more harm than to flatten their bullets, some of which dropped harmlessly into the rifle-pits, and were coolly appropriated by the Beaver’s followers for melting down anew.

“Don’t shoot, my lads,” said Joses before long; “it is only wasting ammunition. They are too well under cover. Let them fire away as long as they like, and you can pick up the lead as soon as they are gone.”

The interpreter told his fellows Joses’ words, and they ceased firing without a moment’s hesitation, and crouched there with their white friends, listening to the loud crack of the Apachés’ rifles, and the almost simultaneousfat! of the bullet against the rock.

Not a man in the gallery was injured in the slightest degree, while, as soon as he had got over a sort of nervous feeling that was the result of being shot at without the excitement of being able to return the fire, Bart lay watching the actions of the Apachés, and the senseless way in which they kept on firing at the spots where they fancied that their enemies might be.

The cover they had made for was partly scrubby brush and partly masses of stone lying singly in the plain, and it was curious to watch an Indian making his attack. First the barrel of his rifle would be protruded over some rugged part of the stone, then very slowly a feather or two would appear, and then, if the spot was very closely watched, a narrow patch of brown forehead and a glancing eye could be seen. Then where the eye had appeared was shut out by the puff of white smoke that suddenly spirted into the air; and as it lifted, grew thin, and died away, Bart could see that the barrel of the rifle had gone, and its owner was no doubt lying flat down behind the piece of rock, which looked as if no Indian had been near it for years.

Five minutes later the muzzle of the rifle would slowly appear from quite a different part, and so low down that it was evident the Apaché was lying almost upon his face. This time perhaps Bart would note that all at once a little patch of dry grass would appear, growing up as it were in a second, as the Indian balanced it upon the barrel of his piece, making it effectually screen his face, while it was thin and open enough for him to take aim at the place from whence he had seen flashes of fire come.

Bart saw a score of such tricks as this, and how a patch of sage-brush, that looked as if it would not hide a prairie dog began to send out flashes of fire and puffs of smoke, telling plainly enough that there was an Indian safely ensconced therein.

The Apachés’ attitudes, too, excited his wonder, for they fired face downwards, lying on their sides or their backs, and always from places where there had been no enemy a minute before; while, when he was weary of watching these dismounted men at their ineffective toil, there were their friends out in the plain, who kept on swooping down after leaving their spears stuck in the earth a mile away. They would gallop to within easy range, and then turning their horses’ heads, canter along parallel with the mountain, throw themselves sidewise on the flank of their horse farthest from the place attacked, take aim and fire beneath the animal’s neck, their own bodies being completely hidden by the horse. It is almost needless to say that the shots they fired never did any harm, the position, the bad aim, and the motion of the horse being sufficient to send the bullets flying in the wildest way, either into the plain or high up somewhere on the face of the rock.

All at once this desultory, almost unresisted attack came to an end, as a fresh body of Indians cantered up; many of the latter leading horses, to which the attacking party from the canyon now made their way; and just at sundown the whole body galloped off, without so much as giving the beleaguered ones a farewell shot.

Bart watched them go off in excellent order right away out into the plain, the orange rays of the setting sun seeming to turn the half-nude figures into living bronze. Then the desert began to grow dim, the sky to darken, a few stars to peep out in the pale grey arch, and after a party had been deputed to keep watch, this intermission in the attack was seized upon as the time for making a hearty meal, the sentries not being forgotten.

“And now, Bart,” said the Doctor, “I shall keep the gate myself to-night with half a dozen men. I should like you and Joses to watch in the gallery once more with the Beaver’s men. These Apachés will be back again to-night to try and drive off the capital prize, if they could get it, of our cattle.”

“Very good, sir,” said Bart, cheerily; “I’ll watch.”

“So will I,” growled Joses.

“I wish you had the Beaver to help you. Poor fellow!” said the Doctor, sadly; “his was a wonderful eye. The interpreter will become chief now, I suppose.”

“Perhaps so, sir,” said Bart; “but he says that the Beaver is not dead, but will come back.”

“I would he spoke the truth,” said the Doctor, sadly. “The poor fellow died that we might be saved, like a hero. But there, we have no time for repining. Let us get well into our places before dark. Joses, can you be a true prophet?” he added.

“What about, master?” said the frontiersman.

“And tell me when I may be allowed to mine my silver in peace?”

“No, master, I’m not prophet enough for that. If you killed off all these Injun, you might do it for a time, but ’fore long a fresh lot would have sprung up, and things would be as bad as ever. Seems to me finding silver’s as bad as keeping cattle. Come along, Master Bart. I wish we had some of them salmon we speared.”

“Never mind the salmon,” said Bart, smiling; “we escaped with our lives;” and leading the way, they were soon ensconced in their places, watching the darkness creep over the plain like a thick veil, while the great clusters of stars came out and shone through the clear air till the sky was like frosted gold.

“Do you think the Apachés will come again to-night?” said Bart, after an hour’s silence.

“Can’t say, my lad. No, I should say. Yes, I should say,” he whispered back; “and there they are.”

As he spoke, he levelled his rifle at the first of two dusky figures that had appeared out in the plain, rising as it were out of the earth; but before he could fire, there was a hand laid upon his shoulder, and another raised the barrel of his piece.

“Treachery!” shouted Joses. “Bart, Master Bart, quick—help!”

There was a fierce struggle for a few moments, and then Joses loosened his hold and uttered an exclamation full of vexed impatience.

“It’s all right, Master Bart,” he cried. “Here, give us your hand, old Speak English,” he added, clapping the interpreter on the shoulder, “it’s of no use for us English to think of seeing like you, Injun.”

“What does all this mean, Joses?” whispered Bart, excitedly, for it seemed marvellous that two Indians should be allowed to come up to their stronghold unmolested.

“Why, don’t you see, my lad,” cried Joses, “Beaver and his chap arn’t dead after all. There they are down yonder; that’s them.”

Bart leaped up, and forgetful of the proximity of enemies, waved his cap and shouted: “Beaver, ahoy! hurrah!”

The two Indians responded with a cheery whoop, and ran up to the rocks, while Bart communicated the news to the Doctor and his fellow-guardians of the gate, where the lad pushed himself to the front, so as to be the first to welcome the chief back to their stronghold—a welcome the more warm after the belief that had been current since his non-return.

The Doctor’s grasp was so friendly that the chief seemed almost moved, and nodding quietly in his dignified way, he seated himself in silence to partake of the refreshments pressed upon him by his friends.

“The Apaché dogs must live longer and learn more before they can teach the Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth,” said the interpreter scornfully to Joses.

“I’m very glad of it,” said the latter, heartily. “I hate Injun, but somehow I don’t hate the Beaver and you, old Speak English, half—no, not a quarter—so much as I do some of ’em. I say, how could you tell in the dark that it was the Beaver?”

“Speak English has eyes,” said the Indian, accepting the nickname Joses gave him without a moment’s hesitation. “Speak English uses his eyes. They see in the dark, like a puma or panther, as much as yours see in the sunshine.”

“Well, I suppose they do,” said Joses, with a sigh. “I used to think, too, that I could see pretty well.”

They were back now in the gallery, keeping a steady watch out towards the plain, Bart being with them, and all were most anxiously waiting till the Beaver and his companion should come; for they were steadily endeavouring to make up for a very long fast to an extent that would astound an Englishman who saw a half-starved Indian eating for the first time. Joses and Bart made no scruple about expressing their wonder as to how it was that the Beaver had managed to escape; but the interpreter and his fellows hazarded no conjecture whatever. They took it for granted that their clever chief would be sure to outwit the Apachés, and so it had proved.

At last the Beaver came gliding softly into their midst, taking his place in the watch as if nothing whatever had happened; and in reply to Bart’s eager inquiries, he first of all raised himself up and took a long and searching survey of the plain.

This done, he drew the interpreter’s attention to something that had attracted his own notice, and seemed to ask his opinion. Then the Indian changed his position, and sheltering his eyes from the starlight, also took a long searching look, ending by subsiding into his place with a long, low ejaculation that ended like a sigh.

“That means it is all right,” whispered Joses.

“Yes; all right,” said the Beaver, turning his dark face toward them, and showing his white teeth, as if pleased at being able to comprehend their speech.

“Then now tell us, Beaver, how it was you managed to get away.”

Without following the chief’s halting delivery of his adventures in English, it is sufficient to say that he and his follower kept the Apachés back as they made attempt after attempt to ascend the chimney, shooting several, and so maddening the rest that they forgot their usual cautious methods of approach, and at last gathered together, evidently meaning to make a headlong rush.

This, the Beaver knew, meant that he and his man must be overpowered or shot down before they could reach the pathway of the natural fort, so cunning was brought to bear to give them time.

He knew that the Apachés would be sure to spend some few minutes in firing, partly to distract their enemies and partly to give them the cover of abundant smoke for their approach before they made their final rush; and taking off his feather head-gear, he secured it with a couple of stones so near the top of the rock which sheltered him and his companion that the eagle plumes could be seen by the Apachés as they gathered below.

His companion did the same, and as soon as this was done, they broke away from their hiding-place, and ran a few yards over the soft, sandy soil at the edge of the patch of forest, to some rocks, making deep impressions with their moccasins. Then, taking a few bounds along the hard rock, they found a suitable place, and there the Beaver bent down, his follower leaped upon his shoulders, and he walked quickly backward into the forest.

“And so made only one trail!” cried Bart, excitedly.

“And that one coming from the trees if the Apachés should find it,” said Joses, grinning. “Well, you are a clever one, Beaver, and no mistake.”

To put the chiefs words in plain English:

“We had only just got into cover when we heard the firing begin very sharply, and knowing that there was not a moment to lose, we backed slowly in among the trees till it grew stony, and our moccasins made no sign, and then my young man stepped down, and we crept from cover to cover, stopping to listen to the yelling and howling of the dogs, when they found only our feathers; and then we seemed to see them as they rushed off over the plain, meaning to catch us before we were in safety. But the dogs are like blind puppies. They have no sense. They could not find our trail. They never knew that we were behind them in the forest; and there we hid, making ourselves a strong place on the edge of the canyon, where we could wait until they had gone; and when at last they had gone, and all was safe, we came on, and we are here.”

“They wouldn’t have escaped you like that, would they, Beaver?” said Bart, after shaking hands once more warmly, and telling him how glad he was to see him back.

“Escaped me?” said the Beaver, scornfully; “there is not one of my young men who would have been trifled with like that.”

This he said in the Indian tongue, and there was a chorus of assenting ejaculations.

“But the Apachés are blind dogs, and children,” he went on, speaking with bitter contempt. “They fight because they are so many that one encourages the other, but they are not brave, and they are not warriors. The young men of the Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth are all warriors, and laugh at the Apachés, for it takes fifty of them to fight one of my braves.”

He held up his hand to command silence after this, and then pointed out into the plain.

“Can you see anything, Joses?” whispered Bart.

“Not a sign of anything but dry buffler grass and sage-brush. No; it’s of no use, Master Bart, I’ve only got four-mile eyes, and these Injun have got ten-mile eyes. Natur’s made ’em so, and it’s of no use to fight again it. ’Tis their natur to, and it arn’t our natur to, so all we can do is to use good medicine.”

“Why, you don’t think that physic would do our eyes any good, do you, Joses?” whispered Bart.

“Physic, no! I said medicine,” chuckled Joses.

“Well, what’s the difference?” replied Bart.

“Difference enough. I meant Injun’s medicine, as they call it. Didn’t the Beaver say that the master’s glass was all good medicine? He thought it was a sort of conjuring trick like their medicine-men do when they are making rain come, or are driving out spirits, as they call it. No; we can’t help our eyes being queer, my lad, but we can use medicine spy-glasses, and see farther than the Injun. Hold your tongue; he’s making signs.”

For the Beaver had held up his hand again to command silence. Then he drew Bart towards him, and pointed outwards.

“Apaché dogs,” he whispered. “Young chief Bart, see?”

“No,” replied the lad, after gazing intently for some time; and then, without a word, he glided off along the narrow, rocky, well-sheltered path, and made his way to the Doctor, who, with his men, was upon thequi vive.

“Well, Bart, what is it?” he said, eagerly.

“The Beaver can see Apachés on the plain.”

“A night attack, eh?” said the Doctor. “Well, we shall be ready for them. Why have you come—to give us warning?”

“I came first for the glass,” replied Bart. “I’ll send you notice if they appear likely to attack, sir.”

“Then I hope you will not have to send the notice, my lad,” said the Doctor, “for I don’t like fighting in the dark.”

As he spoke he handed the glass, and Bart returned to the gallery.

“Are they still there?” he whispered.

“Yes; Apaché dogs,” was the reply. “Good medicine.”

“They won’t find it so,” growled Joses, “if they come close up here, for my rifle has got to be hungry again. I’m ’bout tired of not being left peaceable and alone, and my rifle’s like me—it means to bite.”

As he crouched there muttering and thinking of the narrow escapes they had had, Bart carefully focussed the glass, no easy task in the deep gloom that surrounded them; and after several tries he saw something which made him utter an ejaculation full of wonder.

“What is it, my lad?” whispered Joses.

“The young chief sees the Apaché dogs?” said the interpreter.

“Yes,” exclaimed Bart; “the plain swarms with them.”

“Then they’re gathering for a big attack in the morning,” said Joses. “Are they mounted?”

“Yes, all of them. I can just make them out crossing the plain.”

“Well, their horses are only good to run away on,” growled Joses; “they can’t ride up this mountain. Let me have a look, my lad.”

Bart handed the glass, and Joses took a long, eager look through, at the gathering of Apaché warriors.

“I tell you what,” he said, “we shall have to look out or they’ll drive off every head of cattle and every leg of horse. They’re as cunning as cunning, I don’t care what any one says, and some of these days we shall open our eyes and find ourselves in a pretty mess.”

“The Apaché dogs shall not have the horses,” said the Beaver fiercely.

“That’s right; don’t let ’em have them,” cried Joses. “I don’t want ’em to go; but here’s one thing I should like answered—How are we going to find ’em in pasture with all these wild beasts hanging about, ready to swoop down and make a stampede of it, and drive them off?”

“The Beaver’s young men will drive the horses and cattle out,” said the Beaver, in tones of quiet confidence, “and bring them back again quite safe.”

“If you can do that,” said Joses, “perhaps we can hold out; but it don’t seem likely that we shall get much salmon from down in the canyon yonder, which is a pity, for I’ve took to quite longing for a bit of that; and if the Apaché don’t take care, I shall have some yet.”

Chapter Thirty Four.Hard Pressed.Day broke, and the sun rose, displaying a sight that disheartened many of the occupants of the rock; for far out on the plain, and well beyond the reach of rifle-bullets, there was troop after troop of Indian warriors riding gently here and there, as if to exercise their horses, but doubtless in pursuance of some settled plan.The Doctor inspected them carefully through his glass, to try and estimate their numbers, and he quite came to the conclusion that they intended to invest the rock fortress, and if they could make no impression in one way, to try and starve out its occupants.“We must make sure, once for all, Bart, that we have no weak points—no spot by which these Indian wretches can ascend and take us in the rear. Suppose you take the Beaver and two of his men with you, ascend the mountain, and make a careful inspection.”“But that would hardly be so satisfactory, sir, as if we went all round the base first to make sure that there is no way up from the plain.”“No, I know that,” replied the Doctor; “but that is too dangerous a task.”“I’m beginning to like dangerous tasks now, sir,” said Bart; “they are so exciting.”“Well, go then,” said the Doctor; “but you must be mounted, or you will have no chance of retreat; and of course you will all keep a sharp look-out in case the Indians swoop down.”Bart promised, and went at once to the Beaver and Joses.“I’m to come too, ain’t I?” said the latter.“No, you are to help keep guard,” was the reply; and very sulkily Joses resumed his place, while the Beaver descended with Bart and four of his men to enter the rock stable and obtain their horses, the rest having to remain fasting while their companions were mounted and ridden out; the Indian ponies in particular resenting the indignity of being shut up again behind the stones by turning round and kicking vehemently.The Apachés were so far distant that Bart was in hopes that they would not see the reconnaissance that was being made, as he rode out at the head of his little Indian party, after fully explaining to the Beaver that which they were to do.His first step was to inspect the part of the mountain on the side that was nearest to the chimney, and the chasm into which they had descended to see the silver on their first coming.This was the shortest portion by far, and it had the advantage of a good deal of cover in the shape of detached rocks, which sheltered them from the eyes of those upon the plain; but all the same, the Beaver posted two of his men as scouts in good places for observing the movements of the foe and giving warning should they approach; the plan being to take refuge beneath the gallery, where they would be covered by the rifles of Joses and their friends.It was not at all a difficult task to satisfy the most exacting that ascent from the plain anywhere from the gallery to the precipice at the edge of the canyon was utterly impossible; and after carefully examining every crack and rift that ran upwards, the little party cantered back, said a few words to Joses, and then prepared for their more risky task, that of examining the mountain round by its northern and more open side, for there was no cover here, and their path would be more fully in view of any watchful eye upon the plain.They drew up by the gateway, and had a few minutes’ conversation with the Doctor, who said at parting:“You can soon satisfy yourself, Bart; but give a good look up as you come back, in case you may have missed anything in going.”“I’ll be careful,” said Bart eagerly.“Mind that scouts are left. I should leave at least three at different points on the road. They can give you warning at once. Then gallop back as if you were in a race. We shall be ready to cover you with our rifles if they come on. Now lose no time. Go!”Bart touched Black Boy with his heels, and went off at a canter, but checked his speed instantly, so that he might the more easily gaze up at the mountain-side, while, thoroughly intent upon his task, the Beaver left scouts at intervals, each man backing close in to the rock, and sitting there like a statue watching the plain.No Indians were in sight as far as Bart could see, and he rode slowly on, inspecting every opening in the face of the mountain, and so intent upon his task that he left the care of his person to the chief, whose watchful eyes were everywhere, now pointing out rifts in the rock, now searching the plain.It was a much longer distance, and the importance of the task and its risk gave a piquancy to the ride that made the blood dance through Bart’s veins. He could not help a little shudder running through him from time to time, though it was almost more of a thrill, and he could not have told, had he been asked, whether it was a thrill of dread or of pleasure. Perhaps there may have been more of the former, for he kept glancing over his right shoulder from time to time to see if a body of Indians might be sweeping at full gallop over the plain.Half the distance was ridden over, and this gave confidence to the adventurer, who rode more steadily on, and spared no pains to make sure of there being no possibility of the Indians reaching the top from that side.On went Bart, and three-fourths of the way were passed with nothing overhead but towering perpendicular rocks, impossible for anything but a fly to scale. The Indians had been left one after the other as scouting sentries, and at last, when no one was in company with the young adventurer but the Beaver, the edge of the canyon on this side was well in sight, and only a few hundred yards of the rock remained to be inspected.“We will do this, at all events,” said Bart, pressing his cob’s sides with his heels; and he cantered on, for the face of the mountain was now so perpendicular and smooth that there was no difficulty in determining its safety at a glance.Only about three hundred yards more and then there was the canyon, presenting a barrier of rock so steep, as well as so much higher, that there was nothing to fear on that side. Only these three hundred yards to examine, and the dangerous enterprise was almost as good as done, for every step taken by the horses then would be one nearer to safety. Bart had ridden on, leaving the Beaver, who had drawn rein, looking back at the plain, when suddenly there was a warning cry, and the lad looked over his shoulder to see the Beaver signalling to him.“A minute won’t make much difference,” thought Bart excitedly, and instead of turning, he pressed his horse’s flanks and galloped on to finish his task, rejoicing in the fact as he reached the canyon edge that he had seen every yard of the mountain-side, and that it was even more perpendicular than near the gateway.“Now for back at a gallop,” said Bart, who was thrilling with excitement; and turning his steed right on the very edge of the canyon, he prepared to start back, when, to his horror, he saw a party of dismounted Indians rise up as it were from the canyon about a hundred yards away, the place evidently where they had made their way down on the occasion of the attack during the salmon-fishing. With a fierce yell they made for the young horseman, but as Black Boy bounded forward they stopped short. A score of bullets came whizzing about Bart’s ears, and as the reports of the pieces echoed from the face of the mountain, the cob reared right up and fell over backwards, Bart saving himself by a nimble spring on one side, and fortunately retaining his hold of the bridle as the cob scrambled up.Just then, as the Indians came yelling on, and Bart in his confusion felt that he must either use rifle or knife, he could not tell which, there was a rush of hoofs, a quick check, and a hand gripped him by the collar.For a moment he turned to defend himself, but as he did so he saw that it was a friend, and his hand closed upon the Indian pony’s mane, for it was the Beaver come to his help; and spurring hard, he cantered off with Bart, half running, half lifted at every plunge as the pony made towards where their first friend was waiting rifle in hand.“Let me try—draw him in,” panted Bart, gripping his own pony’s mane hard as it raced on close beside the Beaver’s; and with a hand upon each, he gave a bound and a swing and landed in his saddle, just as the Apachés halted to fire another volley.Black Boy did not rear up this time, and Bart now saw the reason of the last evolution, feeling thankful that the poor beast had not been more badly hit. His hurt was painful enough, no doubt, the rifle-ball having cut one of his ears right through, making it bleed profusely.But there was no time to think of the pony’s hurts while bullets were whistling about them from behind; and now Bart could see the cause of the Beaver’s alarm signal, and bitterly regretted that he had not responded and turned at once, the few minutes he had spent in continuing his inspection having been a waste of time sufficient to place all of them in deadly peril.For there far out on the plain was a very large body of the Apachés coming on at full gallop, having evidently espied them at last, and they were riding now so as to cut them off from their friends, and drive them back into the corner formed by the mountain and the canyon, a spot where escape would have been impossible even without the presence of a second hostile party of Indians to make assurance doubly sure.“Ride! ride!” the Beaver said hoarsely; and in his excitement his English was wonderfully clear and good. “Don’t mind the dogs behind; they cannot hit us as we go.”All the same, though, as Bart listened to their yells and the reports of their rifles, he shuddered, and thought of the consequences of one bullet taking effect on horse or man.Every moment, though, as they rode on, the cries of the Apachés behind sounded more faint, but the danger in front grew more deadly.They picked up first one Indian of their party, and then another, the brave fellows sitting motionless in their saddles like groups cut in bronze, waiting for their chief to join them, even though the great body of enemies was tearing down towards them over the plain. Then as the Beaver reached them, a guttural cry of satisfaction left their lips, and they galloped on behind their leader without so much as giving a look at the dismounted Indians who still came running on.A tremendous race! Well it was that the little horses had been well fed and also well-rested for some time past, or they would never have been able to keep on at such a headlong speed, tearing up the earth at every bound, and spurning it behind them as they snorted and shook their great straggling manes, determined apparently to win in this race for life or death, and save their riders from the peril in which they were placed.Another Indian of their scouts reached, and their party increased to five, while two more were ahead waiting patiently for them to come.The wind whistled by their ears; the ponies seemed to have become part of them, and every nerve was now strained to the utmost; but Bart began to despair, the Apachés were getting to be so near. They were well-mounted, too, and it was such a distance yet before the gateway could be reached, where the first prospect of a few friendly shots could be expected to help them to escape from a horrible death. Mercy, Bart knew, there would certainly be none, and in spite of all their efforts, it seemed as if they must lose the race.How far away the next sentry seemed! Try how they would, he seemed to be no nearer, and in very few minutes more Bart knew that the Indians would be right upon them.Involuntarily he cocked his rifle and threw it to the left as if getting ready to fire, but the Beaver uttered an angry cry.“No, no; ride, ride,” he said; and Bart felt that he was right, for to fire at that vast body would have been madness. What good would it do him to bring down one or even a dozen among the hundreds coming on, all thirsting for their blood?In response Bart gripped his pony more tightly, rising slightly in the stirrups, and the next moment they were passing their scout like a flash, and he had wheeled his pony and was after them.One more scout to reach, and then a race of a few hundred yards, and rifles would begin to play upon their pursuers; but would they ever reach that next scout?It seemed impossible; but the ponies tore on, and Bart began in his excitement to wonder what would be done if one should stumble and fall. Would the others stop and defend him, or would they gallop away to save their own lives? Then he asked himself what he would do if the Beaver were to go down, and he hoped that he would be brave enough to try and save so good a man.Just then a rifle-shot rang out in their front. It was fired by the scout they were racing to join.It was a long shot, but effective, for an Apaché pony fell headlong down, and a couple more went over it, causing a slight diversion in their favour—so much, trifling as it was, that the Beaver and his party gained a few yards, and instead of galloping right down upon them, the Apachés began to edge off a little in the same direction as that in which the fugitives were rushing.And still they tore on, while at last the Apachés edged off more and more, till they were racing on about a hundred yards to their left, afraid to close in lest their prey should get too far ahead; and they were all tearing on in this fashion when the last scout was reached, already in motion to retreat now and lose no time, setting spurs to his pony as the Beaver passed, and then came the final gallop to the gateway for life or death.For now came the question—would the firing of their friends check the Apachés, or would they press on in deadly strife to the bitter end?“Ride close up to the rock below Joses,” shouted the Beaver; “then jump off on the right side of your horse, turn and fire;” and with these words, spoken in broken English, ringing in his ears, Bart felt his spirits rise, and uttering a cheer full of excitement, he rose in his stirrups and galloped on.The endurance of the little horses was wonderful, but all the same the peril was of a terrible nature; for the ground which they were forced to take close in under the perpendicular mountain walls was strewn with blocks of stone, some of a large size, that had to be skirted, while those of a smaller size were leaped by the hardy little animals, and Bart felt that the slightest swerve or a fall meant death of the most horrible kind.Twice over his cob hesitated at a monstrous piece of rock. And each time Bart nearly lost his seat; but he recovered it and raced on.Faster and faster they swept along, the Indian followers of the Beaver urging their horses on by voice and action, while the yells of the Apachés acted like so many goads to the frightened beasts.Would they hear them on the rocks? Would Joses be ready? Would the Doctor give their enemies a salutation? Would they never reach the gateway?These and a dozen other such questions passed like lightning through Bart’s brain in those moments of excitement; for the rocky gateway, that had seemed so near to the first scout when they set out that morning and cantered off, now appeared at an interminable distance, and as if it would never be reached; while the Apachés, as if dreading that their prey might escape, were now redoubling their efforts, as Bart could see when he glanced over his left shoulder.But on the little band of fugitives swept, so close together that their horses almost touched; and, unless some unforeseen accident occurred—a slip, a stumble, or a fatal shot—they would soon be in comparative safety.The Beaver saw this, and, forgetting his ordinary calm, he rose in his stirrups, half turned and shook his rifle at the great body of Apachés, yelling defiantly the while, and drawing a storm of vengeful cries from the pursuers that rose loud above the thunder of the horses’ hoofs.Another two hundred yards, and the gateway would be reached, but it seemed as if that short distance would never be passed; while now the Apachés, taking advantage of the fact that their prey was compelled to swerve to the left, began to close in, bringing themselves in such close proximity that Bart could see the fierce, vindictive faces, the flashing eyes, and eager clutching hands, ready to torture them should they not escape.Another fierce race for the last hundred yards, with the Apachés closing in more and more, and the fate of the fugitives seemed sealed, when, just as the enemy gave a fierce yell of triumph, rising in their stirrups to lash their panting little steeds into an accelerated pace, the rock suddenly seemed to flash, and a sharp sputtering fire to dart from the zigzag path. Some of the pursuing horses and their riders fell, others leaped or stumbled over them; and as Bart and his companions drew rein close in beneath the gallery, forming a breastwork of their blown horses, and began firing with such steadiness as their excitement would allow, a regular volley flashed from above their heads, and Joses and his companions followed it up with a triumphant shout.The effect was marvellous,—the great body of Apachés turning as upon a pivot, and sweeping off at full gallop over the plain, leaving their dead and wounded behind, and pursued by many a deadly shot.This was the result of their surprise, however; for before they had gone far, they turned and charged down again, yelling furiously.“Don’t fire till they’re close in, Master Bart,” Joses shouted from above; “they’ve come back for their wounded. Give ’em some more to take.”Joses was right, for the charge was not pushed home, the savages galloping only sufficiently near to come to the help of their friends; and doubtless they would have carried off their dead, but they encountered so fierce a fire from the rock that they were glad to retreat, leaving several of their number motionless upon the plain.Then they rode on right away, and Bart threw himself down, completely overcome, to lie there panting and exhausted, till the Doctor and Joses came and led him up, the Beaver and his followers staying behind to safely enclose the cavern stable with stones, after they had placed their own ponies and Black Boy within.

Day broke, and the sun rose, displaying a sight that disheartened many of the occupants of the rock; for far out on the plain, and well beyond the reach of rifle-bullets, there was troop after troop of Indian warriors riding gently here and there, as if to exercise their horses, but doubtless in pursuance of some settled plan.

The Doctor inspected them carefully through his glass, to try and estimate their numbers, and he quite came to the conclusion that they intended to invest the rock fortress, and if they could make no impression in one way, to try and starve out its occupants.

“We must make sure, once for all, Bart, that we have no weak points—no spot by which these Indian wretches can ascend and take us in the rear. Suppose you take the Beaver and two of his men with you, ascend the mountain, and make a careful inspection.”

“But that would hardly be so satisfactory, sir, as if we went all round the base first to make sure that there is no way up from the plain.”

“No, I know that,” replied the Doctor; “but that is too dangerous a task.”

“I’m beginning to like dangerous tasks now, sir,” said Bart; “they are so exciting.”

“Well, go then,” said the Doctor; “but you must be mounted, or you will have no chance of retreat; and of course you will all keep a sharp look-out in case the Indians swoop down.”

Bart promised, and went at once to the Beaver and Joses.

“I’m to come too, ain’t I?” said the latter.

“No, you are to help keep guard,” was the reply; and very sulkily Joses resumed his place, while the Beaver descended with Bart and four of his men to enter the rock stable and obtain their horses, the rest having to remain fasting while their companions were mounted and ridden out; the Indian ponies in particular resenting the indignity of being shut up again behind the stones by turning round and kicking vehemently.

The Apachés were so far distant that Bart was in hopes that they would not see the reconnaissance that was being made, as he rode out at the head of his little Indian party, after fully explaining to the Beaver that which they were to do.

His first step was to inspect the part of the mountain on the side that was nearest to the chimney, and the chasm into which they had descended to see the silver on their first coming.

This was the shortest portion by far, and it had the advantage of a good deal of cover in the shape of detached rocks, which sheltered them from the eyes of those upon the plain; but all the same, the Beaver posted two of his men as scouts in good places for observing the movements of the foe and giving warning should they approach; the plan being to take refuge beneath the gallery, where they would be covered by the rifles of Joses and their friends.

It was not at all a difficult task to satisfy the most exacting that ascent from the plain anywhere from the gallery to the precipice at the edge of the canyon was utterly impossible; and after carefully examining every crack and rift that ran upwards, the little party cantered back, said a few words to Joses, and then prepared for their more risky task, that of examining the mountain round by its northern and more open side, for there was no cover here, and their path would be more fully in view of any watchful eye upon the plain.

They drew up by the gateway, and had a few minutes’ conversation with the Doctor, who said at parting:

“You can soon satisfy yourself, Bart; but give a good look up as you come back, in case you may have missed anything in going.”

“I’ll be careful,” said Bart eagerly.

“Mind that scouts are left. I should leave at least three at different points on the road. They can give you warning at once. Then gallop back as if you were in a race. We shall be ready to cover you with our rifles if they come on. Now lose no time. Go!”

Bart touched Black Boy with his heels, and went off at a canter, but checked his speed instantly, so that he might the more easily gaze up at the mountain-side, while, thoroughly intent upon his task, the Beaver left scouts at intervals, each man backing close in to the rock, and sitting there like a statue watching the plain.

No Indians were in sight as far as Bart could see, and he rode slowly on, inspecting every opening in the face of the mountain, and so intent upon his task that he left the care of his person to the chief, whose watchful eyes were everywhere, now pointing out rifts in the rock, now searching the plain.

It was a much longer distance, and the importance of the task and its risk gave a piquancy to the ride that made the blood dance through Bart’s veins. He could not help a little shudder running through him from time to time, though it was almost more of a thrill, and he could not have told, had he been asked, whether it was a thrill of dread or of pleasure. Perhaps there may have been more of the former, for he kept glancing over his right shoulder from time to time to see if a body of Indians might be sweeping at full gallop over the plain.

Half the distance was ridden over, and this gave confidence to the adventurer, who rode more steadily on, and spared no pains to make sure of there being no possibility of the Indians reaching the top from that side.

On went Bart, and three-fourths of the way were passed with nothing overhead but towering perpendicular rocks, impossible for anything but a fly to scale. The Indians had been left one after the other as scouting sentries, and at last, when no one was in company with the young adventurer but the Beaver, the edge of the canyon on this side was well in sight, and only a few hundred yards of the rock remained to be inspected.

“We will do this, at all events,” said Bart, pressing his cob’s sides with his heels; and he cantered on, for the face of the mountain was now so perpendicular and smooth that there was no difficulty in determining its safety at a glance.

Only about three hundred yards more and then there was the canyon, presenting a barrier of rock so steep, as well as so much higher, that there was nothing to fear on that side. Only these three hundred yards to examine, and the dangerous enterprise was almost as good as done, for every step taken by the horses then would be one nearer to safety. Bart had ridden on, leaving the Beaver, who had drawn rein, looking back at the plain, when suddenly there was a warning cry, and the lad looked over his shoulder to see the Beaver signalling to him.

“A minute won’t make much difference,” thought Bart excitedly, and instead of turning, he pressed his horse’s flanks and galloped on to finish his task, rejoicing in the fact as he reached the canyon edge that he had seen every yard of the mountain-side, and that it was even more perpendicular than near the gateway.

“Now for back at a gallop,” said Bart, who was thrilling with excitement; and turning his steed right on the very edge of the canyon, he prepared to start back, when, to his horror, he saw a party of dismounted Indians rise up as it were from the canyon about a hundred yards away, the place evidently where they had made their way down on the occasion of the attack during the salmon-fishing. With a fierce yell they made for the young horseman, but as Black Boy bounded forward they stopped short. A score of bullets came whizzing about Bart’s ears, and as the reports of the pieces echoed from the face of the mountain, the cob reared right up and fell over backwards, Bart saving himself by a nimble spring on one side, and fortunately retaining his hold of the bridle as the cob scrambled up.

Just then, as the Indians came yelling on, and Bart in his confusion felt that he must either use rifle or knife, he could not tell which, there was a rush of hoofs, a quick check, and a hand gripped him by the collar.

For a moment he turned to defend himself, but as he did so he saw that it was a friend, and his hand closed upon the Indian pony’s mane, for it was the Beaver come to his help; and spurring hard, he cantered off with Bart, half running, half lifted at every plunge as the pony made towards where their first friend was waiting rifle in hand.

“Let me try—draw him in,” panted Bart, gripping his own pony’s mane hard as it raced on close beside the Beaver’s; and with a hand upon each, he gave a bound and a swing and landed in his saddle, just as the Apachés halted to fire another volley.

Black Boy did not rear up this time, and Bart now saw the reason of the last evolution, feeling thankful that the poor beast had not been more badly hit. His hurt was painful enough, no doubt, the rifle-ball having cut one of his ears right through, making it bleed profusely.

But there was no time to think of the pony’s hurts while bullets were whistling about them from behind; and now Bart could see the cause of the Beaver’s alarm signal, and bitterly regretted that he had not responded and turned at once, the few minutes he had spent in continuing his inspection having been a waste of time sufficient to place all of them in deadly peril.

For there far out on the plain was a very large body of the Apachés coming on at full gallop, having evidently espied them at last, and they were riding now so as to cut them off from their friends, and drive them back into the corner formed by the mountain and the canyon, a spot where escape would have been impossible even without the presence of a second hostile party of Indians to make assurance doubly sure.

“Ride! ride!” the Beaver said hoarsely; and in his excitement his English was wonderfully clear and good. “Don’t mind the dogs behind; they cannot hit us as we go.”

All the same, though, as Bart listened to their yells and the reports of their rifles, he shuddered, and thought of the consequences of one bullet taking effect on horse or man.

Every moment, though, as they rode on, the cries of the Apachés behind sounded more faint, but the danger in front grew more deadly.

They picked up first one Indian of their party, and then another, the brave fellows sitting motionless in their saddles like groups cut in bronze, waiting for their chief to join them, even though the great body of enemies was tearing down towards them over the plain. Then as the Beaver reached them, a guttural cry of satisfaction left their lips, and they galloped on behind their leader without so much as giving a look at the dismounted Indians who still came running on.

A tremendous race! Well it was that the little horses had been well fed and also well-rested for some time past, or they would never have been able to keep on at such a headlong speed, tearing up the earth at every bound, and spurning it behind them as they snorted and shook their great straggling manes, determined apparently to win in this race for life or death, and save their riders from the peril in which they were placed.

Another Indian of their scouts reached, and their party increased to five, while two more were ahead waiting patiently for them to come.

The wind whistled by their ears; the ponies seemed to have become part of them, and every nerve was now strained to the utmost; but Bart began to despair, the Apachés were getting to be so near. They were well-mounted, too, and it was such a distance yet before the gateway could be reached, where the first prospect of a few friendly shots could be expected to help them to escape from a horrible death. Mercy, Bart knew, there would certainly be none, and in spite of all their efforts, it seemed as if they must lose the race.

How far away the next sentry seemed! Try how they would, he seemed to be no nearer, and in very few minutes more Bart knew that the Indians would be right upon them.

Involuntarily he cocked his rifle and threw it to the left as if getting ready to fire, but the Beaver uttered an angry cry.

“No, no; ride, ride,” he said; and Bart felt that he was right, for to fire at that vast body would have been madness. What good would it do him to bring down one or even a dozen among the hundreds coming on, all thirsting for their blood?

In response Bart gripped his pony more tightly, rising slightly in the stirrups, and the next moment they were passing their scout like a flash, and he had wheeled his pony and was after them.

One more scout to reach, and then a race of a few hundred yards, and rifles would begin to play upon their pursuers; but would they ever reach that next scout?

It seemed impossible; but the ponies tore on, and Bart began in his excitement to wonder what would be done if one should stumble and fall. Would the others stop and defend him, or would they gallop away to save their own lives? Then he asked himself what he would do if the Beaver were to go down, and he hoped that he would be brave enough to try and save so good a man.

Just then a rifle-shot rang out in their front. It was fired by the scout they were racing to join.

It was a long shot, but effective, for an Apaché pony fell headlong down, and a couple more went over it, causing a slight diversion in their favour—so much, trifling as it was, that the Beaver and his party gained a few yards, and instead of galloping right down upon them, the Apachés began to edge off a little in the same direction as that in which the fugitives were rushing.

And still they tore on, while at last the Apachés edged off more and more, till they were racing on about a hundred yards to their left, afraid to close in lest their prey should get too far ahead; and they were all tearing on in this fashion when the last scout was reached, already in motion to retreat now and lose no time, setting spurs to his pony as the Beaver passed, and then came the final gallop to the gateway for life or death.

For now came the question—would the firing of their friends check the Apachés, or would they press on in deadly strife to the bitter end?

“Ride close up to the rock below Joses,” shouted the Beaver; “then jump off on the right side of your horse, turn and fire;” and with these words, spoken in broken English, ringing in his ears, Bart felt his spirits rise, and uttering a cheer full of excitement, he rose in his stirrups and galloped on.

The endurance of the little horses was wonderful, but all the same the peril was of a terrible nature; for the ground which they were forced to take close in under the perpendicular mountain walls was strewn with blocks of stone, some of a large size, that had to be skirted, while those of a smaller size were leaped by the hardy little animals, and Bart felt that the slightest swerve or a fall meant death of the most horrible kind.

Twice over his cob hesitated at a monstrous piece of rock. And each time Bart nearly lost his seat; but he recovered it and raced on.

Faster and faster they swept along, the Indian followers of the Beaver urging their horses on by voice and action, while the yells of the Apachés acted like so many goads to the frightened beasts.

Would they hear them on the rocks? Would Joses be ready? Would the Doctor give their enemies a salutation? Would they never reach the gateway?

These and a dozen other such questions passed like lightning through Bart’s brain in those moments of excitement; for the rocky gateway, that had seemed so near to the first scout when they set out that morning and cantered off, now appeared at an interminable distance, and as if it would never be reached; while the Apachés, as if dreading that their prey might escape, were now redoubling their efforts, as Bart could see when he glanced over his left shoulder.

But on the little band of fugitives swept, so close together that their horses almost touched; and, unless some unforeseen accident occurred—a slip, a stumble, or a fatal shot—they would soon be in comparative safety.

The Beaver saw this, and, forgetting his ordinary calm, he rose in his stirrups, half turned and shook his rifle at the great body of Apachés, yelling defiantly the while, and drawing a storm of vengeful cries from the pursuers that rose loud above the thunder of the horses’ hoofs.

Another two hundred yards, and the gateway would be reached, but it seemed as if that short distance would never be passed; while now the Apachés, taking advantage of the fact that their prey was compelled to swerve to the left, began to close in, bringing themselves in such close proximity that Bart could see the fierce, vindictive faces, the flashing eyes, and eager clutching hands, ready to torture them should they not escape.

Another fierce race for the last hundred yards, with the Apachés closing in more and more, and the fate of the fugitives seemed sealed, when, just as the enemy gave a fierce yell of triumph, rising in their stirrups to lash their panting little steeds into an accelerated pace, the rock suddenly seemed to flash, and a sharp sputtering fire to dart from the zigzag path. Some of the pursuing horses and their riders fell, others leaped or stumbled over them; and as Bart and his companions drew rein close in beneath the gallery, forming a breastwork of their blown horses, and began firing with such steadiness as their excitement would allow, a regular volley flashed from above their heads, and Joses and his companions followed it up with a triumphant shout.

The effect was marvellous,—the great body of Apachés turning as upon a pivot, and sweeping off at full gallop over the plain, leaving their dead and wounded behind, and pursued by many a deadly shot.

This was the result of their surprise, however; for before they had gone far, they turned and charged down again, yelling furiously.

“Don’t fire till they’re close in, Master Bart,” Joses shouted from above; “they’ve come back for their wounded. Give ’em some more to take.”

Joses was right, for the charge was not pushed home, the savages galloping only sufficiently near to come to the help of their friends; and doubtless they would have carried off their dead, but they encountered so fierce a fire from the rock that they were glad to retreat, leaving several of their number motionless upon the plain.

Then they rode on right away, and Bart threw himself down, completely overcome, to lie there panting and exhausted, till the Doctor and Joses came and led him up, the Beaver and his followers staying behind to safely enclose the cavern stable with stones, after they had placed their own ponies and Black Boy within.

Chapter Thirty Five.How Joses fed the Cattle.The Apachés seemed to have had so severe a lesson that they kept right away in the plain for the rest of the day; and as it appeared to be safe, the Indians went out with the Beaver to hide the ghastly relics of the attack, returning afterwards to the Doctor to sit in council upon a very important point, and that was what they were to do about the cattle and horses.This was a terrible question; for while the occupants of the rock fortress could very well manage to hold out for a considerable time if they were beleaguered, having an ample store of meal and dried meat, with an abundant supply of water, the horses and cattle must have food, and to have driven them out to the lake grazing-grounds meant to a certainty that either there must be a severe battle to save them or the Apachés would sweep them off.“The Beaver and his men will watch and fight for the cattle,” said the chief, quietly.“I know that, my brave fellow; but if they were yours, would you let them go out to graze?” said the Doctor.“No,” replied the chief, smiling; “because the Apaché dogs would carry all away.”“Well,” said the Doctor, “we must not risk it. Let us go out and cut as much grass as we can to-day, for the poor brutes are in great distress.”The chief nodded, and said that it was good; and while strict watch was kept from the rock, three parts of the men were hurried down to the nearest point where there was an abundance of buffalo-grass really in a state of naturally-made hay, and bundles of this were cut and carried to the starving cattle.It was a terribly arduous job in the hot sun; and it made the Doctor think that if matters went on in this way, the silver procured from the mine would be very dearly bought.Even with all their efforts there was but a very scanty supply obtained, and of that Joses declared the mules got by far the best share, biting and kicking at the horses whenever they approached, and driving the more timid quite away.Strict watch was kept that night, but no Apachés came, and as soon as it was light the next morning the horizon was swept in the hope of finding that they were gone; but no such good fortune attended the silver-miners, and instead, to the Doctor’s chagrin, of their being able to continue their toil of obtaining the precious metal, it was thought advisable to go out and cut more fodder for the starving beasts.The next day came, and no Apachés were visible.“We can drive the cattle out to-day, Beaver,” said the Doctor; “the enemy are gone.”“The Apaché dogs are only hiding,” replied the chief, “and will ride down as soon as the cattle are feeding by the lake.”The Doctor uttered an impatient ejaculation and turned to Joses.“What do you say?” he asked.“Beaver’s right, master.”“Well, perhaps he is; but we can’t go on like this,” cried the Doctor, impatiently. “No silver can be dug if the men are to be always cutting grass. Here! you and Harry and a dozen greasers, drive out half the cattle to feed. Bart, you take the glass, and keep watch from high up the path. The signal of danger directly you see the Indians is the firing of your piece. If you hear that fired, Joses, you are to drive in the cattle directly, and we will cover your return.”“Good!” said Joses; and without a word he summoned Harry and a dozen men, going off directly after through the gateway to the corral, saying to Bart, as he went, “Of course, I do as master tells me, but you keep a sharp look-out, Master Bart, or we shan’t get them bullocks and cows back.”Bart promised, and took his station, rifle across his knee and glass in hand, to look out for danger, while before he had been there long the Beaver came and sat beside him, making Bart hurriedly apologise for the risk he had caused on the day of their adventure, he never having been alone since with the chief.“Master Bart, brave young chief,” was all the Indian said; and then he sat silently gazing out over the plain, while no sooner were the cattle released than they set off lowing towards the pastures at a long lumbering gallop, Joses and his followers having hard work to keep up with them, for they needed no driving.In less than half an hour they were all munching away contentedly enough, with Joses and his men on the far side to keep the drove from going too far out towards the plain, and then all at once the Beaver started up, pointing right away.“Apaché dogs!” he shouted.Bart brought the glass to bear, and saw that the chief was right.In an instant he had cocked and fired his piece, giving the alarm, when the garrison ran to their places ready to cover the coming in of the cattle-drivers and their herd, Bart, seeing that Joses had taken the alarm, and with his men was trying to drive the feeding animals back.But the Doctor had not calculated upon hunger and bovine obstinacy. The poor brutes after much fasting were where they could eat their fill, and though Joses and his men drove them from one place, they blundered back to another, lowing, bellowing, and getting more and more excited, but never a step nearer to their corral.And all this while the Apachés were coming on at full speed, sweeping over the level plain like a cloud.The Doctor grew frantic.“Quick!” he cried; “we must go out to help Joses and his men. No, it would be madness. Good heavens! what a mistake!”“Let me go with the Beaver and his men to his help,” cried Bart excitedly.“My dear Bart, the Indians will be upon them before you could reach the horses, let alone saddle and bridle and mount.”“It is true,” said the Beaver, sternly. “Chief Joses must fight the Apaché dogs himself.”Bart knew they could do nothing, and just then he saw that the Mexican greasers had left the cattle, and were coming at full speed as hard as they could run towards the shelter of the rock.“The cattle must go,” cried the Doctor, bitterly. “It is my fault. Why does not Joses leave them? Harry is running with the others.”“Because poor Joses is too brave a fellow,” cried Bart in despair. “I must go to his help; I must indeed,” he cried piteously.“Young chief Bart must stay,” said the Beaver, sternly, as he seized the lad’s arm. “He would be killed. Let chief Joses be. He is wise, and can laugh at the Apaché dogs.”It was an exciting scene, the Mexican labourers fleeing over the plain, the cattle calmly resuming their grazing, and the cloud of Indian horsemen tearing along like a whirlwind.The occupants of the rock were helpless, and the loss of the cattle was forgotten in the peril of Joses, though murmurs long and deep were uttered by the Englishmen against him who had sent them out to graze.In spite, too, of the terrible loss, there was something interesting and wonderfully exciting in the way in which the Apachés charged down with lowered lances, the cattle calmly grazing till they were near; then lifting up their heads in wonder, and as the Indians swooped round, they wheeled about, and went off at a gallop, but only to be cleverly headed and driven back; and then with the Apachés behind, and forming a crescent which partly enclosed the lumbering beasts, they were driven off at full speed fight away towards the plain, gradually disappearing from their owners’ eyes.“Only half as many to feed,” said the Doctor, bitterly.“Poor Joses!” groaned Bart with a piteous sigh.“Chief Joses coming,” said the Beaver pointing; and to the delight of all they could see Joses in the distance, his rifle shouldered, marching quietly towards them, and evidently making himself a cigarette as he came.Half an hour later he was in their midst.“Couldn’t save the obstinate beasts, master,” he said quietly; “they were worse than buffler.”“But how did you manage to escape?” cried the Doctor and Bart in a breath.“Oh! when I see it was all over, I just crept under a bush, and waited till the Indian dogs had gone.”“Chief Joses too wise for Apaché dog,” said the Beaver, with a calm smile. “Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth told young chief Bart so.”“Yes,” said Bart; “and I can’t tell you how glad I am.”“Just about as glad as I am, Master Bart,” said Joses, gruffly. “I did my best, master, and I couldn’t do no more.”“I know, Joses,” replied the Doctor. “It was my fault; and the greasers ran away?”“Lord, master, if we’d had five hundred thousand greasers there it would have been all the same. Nothing but a troop of horse would have brought the obstinate cattle back to their corral. You won’t send out no more?”“No, Joses, not a hoof,” said the Doctor, gloomily; and he went to his tent on the top of the mountain to ponder upon the gloomy state of their affairs.

The Apachés seemed to have had so severe a lesson that they kept right away in the plain for the rest of the day; and as it appeared to be safe, the Indians went out with the Beaver to hide the ghastly relics of the attack, returning afterwards to the Doctor to sit in council upon a very important point, and that was what they were to do about the cattle and horses.

This was a terrible question; for while the occupants of the rock fortress could very well manage to hold out for a considerable time if they were beleaguered, having an ample store of meal and dried meat, with an abundant supply of water, the horses and cattle must have food, and to have driven them out to the lake grazing-grounds meant to a certainty that either there must be a severe battle to save them or the Apachés would sweep them off.

“The Beaver and his men will watch and fight for the cattle,” said the chief, quietly.

“I know that, my brave fellow; but if they were yours, would you let them go out to graze?” said the Doctor.

“No,” replied the chief, smiling; “because the Apaché dogs would carry all away.”

“Well,” said the Doctor, “we must not risk it. Let us go out and cut as much grass as we can to-day, for the poor brutes are in great distress.”

The chief nodded, and said that it was good; and while strict watch was kept from the rock, three parts of the men were hurried down to the nearest point where there was an abundance of buffalo-grass really in a state of naturally-made hay, and bundles of this were cut and carried to the starving cattle.

It was a terribly arduous job in the hot sun; and it made the Doctor think that if matters went on in this way, the silver procured from the mine would be very dearly bought.

Even with all their efforts there was but a very scanty supply obtained, and of that Joses declared the mules got by far the best share, biting and kicking at the horses whenever they approached, and driving the more timid quite away.

Strict watch was kept that night, but no Apachés came, and as soon as it was light the next morning the horizon was swept in the hope of finding that they were gone; but no such good fortune attended the silver-miners, and instead, to the Doctor’s chagrin, of their being able to continue their toil of obtaining the precious metal, it was thought advisable to go out and cut more fodder for the starving beasts.

The next day came, and no Apachés were visible.

“We can drive the cattle out to-day, Beaver,” said the Doctor; “the enemy are gone.”

“The Apaché dogs are only hiding,” replied the chief, “and will ride down as soon as the cattle are feeding by the lake.”

The Doctor uttered an impatient ejaculation and turned to Joses.

“What do you say?” he asked.

“Beaver’s right, master.”

“Well, perhaps he is; but we can’t go on like this,” cried the Doctor, impatiently. “No silver can be dug if the men are to be always cutting grass. Here! you and Harry and a dozen greasers, drive out half the cattle to feed. Bart, you take the glass, and keep watch from high up the path. The signal of danger directly you see the Indians is the firing of your piece. If you hear that fired, Joses, you are to drive in the cattle directly, and we will cover your return.”

“Good!” said Joses; and without a word he summoned Harry and a dozen men, going off directly after through the gateway to the corral, saying to Bart, as he went, “Of course, I do as master tells me, but you keep a sharp look-out, Master Bart, or we shan’t get them bullocks and cows back.”

Bart promised, and took his station, rifle across his knee and glass in hand, to look out for danger, while before he had been there long the Beaver came and sat beside him, making Bart hurriedly apologise for the risk he had caused on the day of their adventure, he never having been alone since with the chief.

“Master Bart, brave young chief,” was all the Indian said; and then he sat silently gazing out over the plain, while no sooner were the cattle released than they set off lowing towards the pastures at a long lumbering gallop, Joses and his followers having hard work to keep up with them, for they needed no driving.

In less than half an hour they were all munching away contentedly enough, with Joses and his men on the far side to keep the drove from going too far out towards the plain, and then all at once the Beaver started up, pointing right away.

“Apaché dogs!” he shouted.

Bart brought the glass to bear, and saw that the chief was right.

In an instant he had cocked and fired his piece, giving the alarm, when the garrison ran to their places ready to cover the coming in of the cattle-drivers and their herd, Bart, seeing that Joses had taken the alarm, and with his men was trying to drive the feeding animals back.

But the Doctor had not calculated upon hunger and bovine obstinacy. The poor brutes after much fasting were where they could eat their fill, and though Joses and his men drove them from one place, they blundered back to another, lowing, bellowing, and getting more and more excited, but never a step nearer to their corral.

And all this while the Apachés were coming on at full speed, sweeping over the level plain like a cloud.

The Doctor grew frantic.

“Quick!” he cried; “we must go out to help Joses and his men. No, it would be madness. Good heavens! what a mistake!”

“Let me go with the Beaver and his men to his help,” cried Bart excitedly.

“My dear Bart, the Indians will be upon them before you could reach the horses, let alone saddle and bridle and mount.”

“It is true,” said the Beaver, sternly. “Chief Joses must fight the Apaché dogs himself.”

Bart knew they could do nothing, and just then he saw that the Mexican greasers had left the cattle, and were coming at full speed as hard as they could run towards the shelter of the rock.

“The cattle must go,” cried the Doctor, bitterly. “It is my fault. Why does not Joses leave them? Harry is running with the others.”

“Because poor Joses is too brave a fellow,” cried Bart in despair. “I must go to his help; I must indeed,” he cried piteously.

“Young chief Bart must stay,” said the Beaver, sternly, as he seized the lad’s arm. “He would be killed. Let chief Joses be. He is wise, and can laugh at the Apaché dogs.”

It was an exciting scene, the Mexican labourers fleeing over the plain, the cattle calmly resuming their grazing, and the cloud of Indian horsemen tearing along like a whirlwind.

The occupants of the rock were helpless, and the loss of the cattle was forgotten in the peril of Joses, though murmurs long and deep were uttered by the Englishmen against him who had sent them out to graze.

In spite, too, of the terrible loss, there was something interesting and wonderfully exciting in the way in which the Apachés charged down with lowered lances, the cattle calmly grazing till they were near; then lifting up their heads in wonder, and as the Indians swooped round, they wheeled about, and went off at a gallop, but only to be cleverly headed and driven back; and then with the Apachés behind, and forming a crescent which partly enclosed the lumbering beasts, they were driven off at full speed fight away towards the plain, gradually disappearing from their owners’ eyes.

“Only half as many to feed,” said the Doctor, bitterly.

“Poor Joses!” groaned Bart with a piteous sigh.

“Chief Joses coming,” said the Beaver pointing; and to the delight of all they could see Joses in the distance, his rifle shouldered, marching quietly towards them, and evidently making himself a cigarette as he came.

Half an hour later he was in their midst.

“Couldn’t save the obstinate beasts, master,” he said quietly; “they were worse than buffler.”

“But how did you manage to escape?” cried the Doctor and Bart in a breath.

“Oh! when I see it was all over, I just crept under a bush, and waited till the Indian dogs had gone.”

“Chief Joses too wise for Apaché dog,” said the Beaver, with a calm smile. “Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth told young chief Bart so.”

“Yes,” said Bart; “and I can’t tell you how glad I am.”

“Just about as glad as I am, Master Bart,” said Joses, gruffly. “I did my best, master, and I couldn’t do no more.”

“I know, Joses,” replied the Doctor. “It was my fault; and the greasers ran away?”

“Lord, master, if we’d had five hundred thousand greasers there it would have been all the same. Nothing but a troop of horse would have brought the obstinate cattle back to their corral. You won’t send out no more?”

“No, Joses, not a hoof,” said the Doctor, gloomily; and he went to his tent on the top of the mountain to ponder upon the gloomy state of their affairs.

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