The trees to which Bill and his two mates had been tied by the Lipans were so situated that all that they needed was to turn their heads in order to have a good view of what was doing on the plain to the westward. They saw their captors ride out, and heard their whoops and yells of self-confidence and defiance.
"Don't I wish I was with the boys just now!" growled Bill.
"Three more good rifles'd be a good thing for 'em."
"Skinner'll fight, you see'f he don't. He'll stop some of that yelling."
"He's great on friendship and compromise," groaned Bill. "He may think it's good-sense not to shoot first."
The three gazed anxiously out toward the scene of the approaching conflict, if there was to be one. They could not see the advance of their comrades, but they knew they were coming.
"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Bill. "That's the boys. Opened on 'em. Oh, don't I wish I was thar!"
The other two could hardly speak, in their excitement and disgust. It was a dreadful thing for men of their stamp to be tied to trees while a fight was going on which might decide whether they were to live or die.
Suddenly a squad of Lipans came dashing in. The cords that bound them were cut—all but those on their hands—and they were rudely lifted upon bare-backed ponies and led rapidly away to the front of the battle.
They could not understand a word of the fierce and wrathful talking around them, but the gesticulations of the warriors were plainer than their speech. Besides, some of them were attending to wounds upon their own bodies or those of others. Some were on foot, their ponies having been shot under them. More than all, there were warriors lying still upon the grass who would never again need horses.
"It's been a sharp fight," muttered Bill, "for a short one. I wonder if any of the boys went under? What are they gwine to do with us?"
A tall Lipan sat on his horse in front of him, with his long lance levelled, as if only waiting the word of command to use it. It remained to be seen whether or not the order would be given, for now To-la-go-to-de himself was riding slowly out to meet Captain Skinner.
"He can't outwit the Captain," said one of the miners. "Shooting first was the right thing to do this time. Skinner doesn't make many mistakes."
It was their confidence in his brains, rather than in his bones and muscles, which made his followers obey him, and they were justified in this instance, as they had been in a great many others.
The greetings between the two leaders were brief and stern, and the first question of old Two Knives was,
"Pale-faces begin fight. What for shoot Lipans?"
"Big lie. Lipans take our camp. Tie up our men. Steal our horses. Ride out in war-paint. Pale-faces kill them all."
The chief understood what sort of men he had to deal with, but his pride rebelled.
"All right. We kill prisoners right away. Keep camp. Keep horse. Kill all pale-faces."
"We won't leave enough of you for the Apaches to bury. There's a big band of them coming. Eat you all up."
"The Lipans are warriors. The Apaches are small dogs. We are not afraid of them."
"You'd better be! If you had us to help you, now, you might whip them. There won't be so many of you by the time they get here. Pale-faces are good friends. Bad enemies. Shoot straight. Kill a heap."
Captain Skinner saw that his "talk" was making a deep impression, but the only comment of the chief was a deep, guttural "Ugh!" and the Captain added,
"Suppose you make peace? Say have fight enough. Not kill any more. Turn and whip Apaches. We help."
"What about camp, wagon, horse, mule, blanket? All kind of plunder."
"Make a divide. We'll help ourselves when we take the Apache ponies. You keep one wagon. We keep one. Same way with horses and mules—divide 'em even. You give up prisoners right away. Give 'em their rifles, and pistols, and knives. Give back all you took from them."
"Ugh! Good! Fight Apaches. Then pale-faces take care of themselves. Give them one day after fight."
That was the sort of treaty that was made, and it saved the lives of Bill and his mates for that day at least.
It was all Captain Skinner could have expected, but the faces of the miners were sober enough over it.
"Got to help fight Apaches, boys."
"And lose one wagon, and only have a day's start afterward."
"One wagon's nothing, boys. All we care much for is in the wagon we'll choose to keep. As to the rest of it, we'll see about that. Did any of you get hurt besides Smith and Gorham?"
"Not a man. But there's two less to divide with if we ever git safe into Mexico."
The chief had at once ridden back to announce the result to his braves, and they, too, received it with a sullen approval which was full of bitter thoughts of what they would do to those pale-faces after the Apaches should be beaten, and the "one day's truce" ended.
The three captives were at once set at liberty, their arms restored to them, and they were permitted to return to the camp and pick out, saddle, and mount their own horses.
"The Captain's got us out of our scrape," said Bill. "I can't guess how he did it."
"Must ha' been by shootin' first."
"And all the boys do shoot so awful straight!"
That had a great deal to do with it, but the immediate neighborhood of the Apaches had a great deal more. To-la-go-to-de knew that Captain Skinner was exactly right, and that the Lipans would be in no condition for a battle with the band of Many Bears after one with so desperate a lot of riflemen as those miners.
The next thing was to make the proposed "division" of the property in and about the camp. The Lipan warriors withdrew from it, all but the chief and six braves. Then Captain Skinner and six of his men rode in.
"This my wagon," said Two Knives, laying his hand upon the larger and seemingly the better stored of the two.
"All right. We'll take the other. This is our team of mules."
So they went on from one article to another, and it would have taken a keen judge of that kind of property to have told, when the division was complete, which side had the best of it. The Lipans felt that they were giving up a great deal, but only the miners knew how much was being restored to them.
"It was worth a fight, boys," said Captain Skinner, when the saved wagon was hauled out among them. "There's a little spring of water out yonder beyond the bushes. Not as good as the other, but it'll serve our turn."
There was little or no mourning over their two fallen companions. Each man felt that his own life was worth a good deal less than he had thought that morning, and there was no telling when his turn might come.
As for the Lipans, they were disposed to be sulky over the day's operations, for they could not disguise the fact that they had been pretty roughly handled by an inferior force. It was as sure as anything could be that they would take the first opportunity which might come to "square accounts" with the miners. Indeed, Captain Skinner was not far from right when he said to his men,
"Boys, it'll be a bad thing for us if the Apaches don't show themselves to-morrow. We can't put any trust in the Lipans."
"Better tell the chief about that old man and the boy," said one of the men.
"I hadn't forgotten it. Yes, I think I'd better."
It was easy to bring old Two Knives to another conference, and he received his message with an "Ugh!" which meant a good deal. He had questions to ask, of course, and the Captain gave him as large an idea as he thought safe to give of the strength and number of the Apaches.
"Let 'em come, though. If we stand by each other we can beat them off."
"Not wait for Apaches to come," said To-la-go-to-de. "All ride after them to-night. Pale-faces ride with Lipans."
That was a part of the agreement between them, but it had not been any part of the intention of Captain Skinner.
"We're in for it, boys," he said, when he returned to his own camp and reported. "We must throw the redskins off to-night. It's time for us to unload that wagon. We're close to the Mexican line. Every man must carry his own share."
"Guess we can do that."
"I don't believe we can. It'll be as much as a man's life's worth to be loaded down too much, with all the riding we've got before us."
"We won't leave an ounce, if we can help it."
"Well, not any more'n we can help."
It was strange sight, a little later, the group those ragged, weather-beaten men made around their rescued wagon, while their leader sat in front of it, with a pair of scales before him.
"Some of the dust is better than other some."
"So are the bars and nuggets."
"Can't help that," replied Captain Skinner. "Everything's got to go by weight. No assay-office down in this corner of Arizona."
So it was gold they were dividing in those little bags of buckskin that the men were stowing away so carefully. Yellow gold, and very heavy. Pockets, money-belts, saddle-bags, all sorts of carrying places on men and horses, were brought into use, until at last a miner exclaimed,
"It's of no use, boys. I don't care to have any more load about me—'specially if there's to be any running."
"Or any swimming," said another.
"Swimming! I've got enough about me to sink a cork man."
"And I've got all I keer to spend. Enough's as good as a feast, I say."
One after another came to the same opinion, although Captain Skinner remarked,
"We're not taking it all, boys. What'll we do with the rest?"
"Cache it. Hide it."
"For the Lipans to find the next day? No, boys; we'll leave it in the wagon, under the false bottom. That's the safest place for it, if any of us ever come back. No redskins ever took the trouble to haul a wagon across the mountains. It'll stay right here."
The "false bottom" was a simple affair, but well made, and there was room between it and the real bottom of that wagon to stow a great deal more than the miners were now leaving.
They would have had no time to dig a hiding-place in the earth if they had wanted to, for messengers came from To-la-go-to-de before sunset to tell them he was nearly ready to start, and from that time forward the keen eyes of strolling Lipan horsemen were watching every step that was taken in the camp of their pale-face allies.
"If they want to know how much supper we eat," said the Captain, "we can't help it. I only hope I can blind 'em in some way before morning."
The supper that was eaten was a hearty one, but there was no use in providing any great weight of provisions to carry with them. Every man and horse had already enough to carry, and the largest and heaviest men were most in doubt as to whether they had better take any provisions at all.
As Steve walked away with Red Wolf, Many Bears at once turned his attention to Murray and the great affairs to be decided by the chiefs and councillors.
For himself, the first idea that called for expression was suggested by a faint odor of something broiling on the coals just in front of Mother Dolores.
"Send Warning ride long way. Get very hungry. Come. All great braves eat a heap."
If the power to eat very nearly as fast, for a given time, as Dolores herself could cook, was a sure mark of greatness, Many Bears had no superior in his own band. It had not made a fat man of him yet, but there was no telling what it might do for him in the course of time.
The chiefs and warriors whose fame and rank entitled them to such a privilege soon gathered for the expected "talk," and there were some of them whose busy squaws ventured to bring them supplies of provisions, but the greater number were contented to wait a while.
Murray found himself regarded as an honored guest. Not only were his hosts indebted to him for past favors, but they were anxiously expecting more. Indians are just like other human beings in such matters. Always ready to give a good dinner to a man from whom they expect something. To be sure, all they were now looking for was good advice, and sometimes people are not willing to give much for that. There was plenty to eat, and with it a great deal of dignity. Even questions were asked slowly and carefully, and every answer was thoughtfully considered before any comment was made upon it. At first Murray merely listened as brave after brave replied to the mention of his name. He saw that only the very gray-headed men had anything to say in favor of peaceful action and a prompt "getting away." He was even surprised at the warlike ardor with which many of the warriors declared their eagerness for a blow at the Lipans, and the good reasons they were able to give.
The presence of the band of Two Knives was a sort of invasion of the Apache hunting-grounds. The Lipans had no business this side of the mountains. They had come to strike the Apaches, and if they should be allowed to get away unhurt they would surely come again. Send Warning had already told how many there were of them. If there were no more than that, none of them ought to be allowed to get away.
Murray could but think that a party of Apaches in the Lipan country would probably be talked about and dealt with very much in the same way; but it seemed to require a special effort for him to think at all. His head had been in a sort of whirl for some minutes before the time when Many Bears turned suddenly upon him with the question,
"What Send Warning say? His head is very white."
Murray was muttering to himself at the moment, while Dolores handed her husband a stick with a piece of corn bread on the point of it, "She is not an Apache; she is a full-blooded Mexican. Yes, I've seen that woman before—" But the chief's inquiry startled him out of that train of recollection. He could not have answered instantly to save his life, but it was according to Indian notions that he should not speak too quickly, so he had time to recover himself.
"More enemies besides Lipans," he said at length. "Apaches better not forget pale-face miners."
"Ugh!"
The exclamation went all around the circle, for that was the very thing none of them had mentioned.
"Pale-faces fight Lipans," remarked Many Bears.
"Is the great chief sure of that?" asked Murray. "Suppose they come all together. Apaches need more braves then. Suppose they fight each other first, then Apaches eat up all that are left. Great chief better find out."
"Ugh!"
It was a very loud grunt indeed to come from the throat of Many Bears, and the chiefs and braves looked at one another in a way that spoke a good deal for the value they set on the advice of their white friend.
Whipping sixty Lipans was one thing; attacking them with a strong force of pale-face riflemen to help them was quite another.
"What Send Warning say do?"
"Do?" almost sharply exclaimed Murray, with his eyes upon the retreating form of Mother Dolores. "I'll tell you. Send your whole camp across the river. They can surround it here. Then send out your best braves to watch for the Lipans. They'll attack you before morning. That's what they came for. They won't fight the miners."
He was partly right and partly wrong, but Many Bears and his chiefs rose to their feet as one man.
"The words of Send Warning are wise. He is very old, and he is a chief. No use talk any more. All braves go and eat a heap. Tell squaws bring up all ponies. Get ready to cross river. No lose time."
Murray was not a "general," and he had never studied war, but he knew it would be a good thing to have deep water between that camp and any assailants instead of behind it. Many Bears was a chief of great experience, but it had never occurred to him that it would cost him all his horses if he should be beaten in a fight with a river behind him. The blunder was remedied now with a rapidity which astonished even Murray, for he had not known how good a ford there was right there.
"Hope the Lipans won't find that out," he said to himself. "They'll think twice before they try to swim their horses. I've given these fellows good advice. May prevent a battle. But if one should come, how could I fight the Lipans? What am I doing in an Apache camp anyhow? Steve and I must make haste out of this."
And then a puzzled, pained, anxious look came over his wrinkled face, and he seemed to be looking around him very wistfully indeed, as if he wanted to see somebody.
"Not to-night, perhaps; but I'll see her again in the morning. Steve and I must get away to-morrow. It'll be easy enough to give him his directions, and I can find Two Knives and his braves in a few hours."
Murray was a good deal upset by something or other, and it may be he had not quite made up his own mind what his difficulty might be.
As the deepening gloom of the evening settled slowly down he stood beside Many Bears on the bank of the river, and watched the young braves drive in the last squads of ponies from their pasturage and urge them across the ford. He had no idea how much quiet fun Steve and his friend Red Wolf had already enjoyed in a very similar occupation. The squaws had insisted upon making all the boys and girls who were big enough swim instead of going over on pony-back, and the youngsters in their turn had revenged themselves by doing all the mischievous pranks they knew.
Old Too Many Toes had been conspicuous in shoving small Indians into the water, and when at last she finished packing her little borrowed mule and a borrowed pony, there was a perfect swarm of "divers and duckers" around her. The water came well up the sides of the little mule, and she would not have minded that if the boys had been willing it should go no higher.
Even the solemn face of Many Bears himself expanded into a chuckle of dignified fun.
"Ugh! Squaw scold. Get spattered."
"Look!" said Red Wolf at the same instant. "Drop baby."
Not her pappoose, for it was safe under her blanket, but her three-year-old girl had slipped from behind her, and the river was sweeping it down stream.
"It will be drowned!" exclaimed Steve, in some excitement.
"No. Apache baby never sink. Swim a heap. Look!"
Steve looked, and there was no question but what the queer little thing was paddling bravely, and not even showing fear. To be sure, the current was carrying it away, but Steve now saw that three or four older boys and girls were swimming around it and were ready to give it all the help needed.
For all that, the wrath and anxiety of Too Many Toes exhibited itself in a torrent of long words.
Steve had learned among the Lipans that the red men have a great deal of fun in their compositions, but he was almost surprised to hear Red Wolf say, "Squaw talk big rain. Fall in river. Have freshet then. Lipans can't follow Apaches."
If talk could have raised the river, the chatter of nearly two hundred squaws of all ages, added to the scolding of Too Many Toes, would have made a torrent of it.
And yet a number of the squaws, wives and daughters of men of character and station attended to the business of fording the stream with the silence and gravity of the most dignified white matrons.
Dolores would have scorned putting herself on a level with such a squaw as Too Many Toes, even in the use of her tongue; and as for Ni-ha-be and Rita, they never forgot for a moment whose family they belonged to.
"Rita," said Ni-ha-be, as they rode down to the river, "your blanket is loose. Red Wolf and Knotted Cord are watching us."
"Send Warning is not there."
"No, of course not. He is with the chiefs. Don't let them see we are looking at them."
"I'm not looking at them."
"Neither am I. I don't care for Red Wolf either."
"And I don't care whether Knotted Cord sees me or not. I wish I could talk with Send Warning."
"What for?"
"To ask about the talking leaves."
"Knotted Cord could tell you. He is a pale-face."
"He is a mere boy. Send Warning's head is very white."
"Look out, Rita. Your horse's feet are slipping."
Ni-ha-be had better have been attending to the feet of her own pretty mustang. The ford was not very wide just there, and the two girls were compelled to get a little out of the way of the two mules loaded with lodge-poles.
Alas for the vanity of the chiefs self-confident daughter!
Her horse's fore-feet went over the ledge, and in an instant more she was floundering in the river, while every squaw and young Indian who could see her broke out into merry laughter.
It was well, perhaps, that she slipped from the ford on the up-stream side, but it was clear that she did not need a bit of help from anybody. No Apache girl of her age ever needed to be taught to swim. It was quite a credit to her, indeed, in the eyes of Steve Harrison, that she should so promptly catch her mustang by the head, turn it to the ledge, find her own footing on the rock, and encourage the unlucky quadruped to follow.
Then, although the water was at her shoulders, she managed, all dripping as she was, to clamber into the saddle again. It was so dreadfully provoking. She had heard Red Wolf laugh.
"Rita, did you look at them?"
"Look at whom? I was looking at you."
"Did they both laugh? Or was it only Red Wolf?"
"I don't know."
"Go on! Go on! Too Many Toes is saying something about me. She says it is her ford, and I fell in because I did not know where it was. Hurry on, Rita."
It was a sad blow to the pride of poor Ni-ha-be, but it need not have been. Any girl in the world might have had just such an accident befall her, but not a great many could have helped themselves out of it so skilfully and so bravely. That was precisely what Steve Harrison had been thinking, and he had not joined at all in the laughter of Red Wolf.
It had been the chief's order that the lodges should be set up on the safe side of the ford, and so there was work enough before the squaws. Even some of the younger braves were called upon to lend a hand, and in less than an hour's time there was a very respectable Indian village. Lodges, ponies, fires, dogs, everything belonging to an Apache hunting-camp was there, and between them and any probable danger the river was rolling now, and the Lipans did not know where to look for the ford.
"Ni-ha-be," exclaimed Dolores, sharply, a little later, "go into lodge. Too late for young squaw. What will the great chief say?"
"It is early yet."
"Go in. Lipans come and carry you off. Old pale-face see you, and say foolish young squaw. Not know enough to keep dry. Fall off pony. Ugh!"
That was a sharp hit, and Ni-ha-be obeyed Dolores rather than stay for another reminder of her ducking, but Rita followed her very slowly.
"If I could see him again," she murmured, "I feel sure he would speak to me. I don't care what they say. Dolores may scold as much as she pleases. I will ask Send Warning about those words, and all about those pictures."
She little guessed that at that very moment Murray was saying to Steve Harrison,
To-la-go-do-de had all the pride of an Indian chief, but he had good reasons for respecting Captain Skinner. He had seen him handle his men in a fight, and he had talked with him afterward, and he knew that he had not beaten the Captain in either case. Now, therefore, that they were to go on a war-path together, he was not at all above a consultation with so wise and brave a leader.
For his own part, he had decided upon the right policy to follow. He had told his older warriors, "The pale-faces are cunning. The Lipans must be wise. Suppose the Apaches kill many pale-faces. Ugh! Good. Lipans kill rest of them very easy. Not so many to kill."
He was right about the Captain's "cunning," for it was a good deal like his own "wisdom," and it had been expressed to his men in the same way.
"The Apaches are strong enough to beat them and us too, and they'll be on the lookout. We mustn't throw ourselves away, boys. We must get separated somehow. There won't be enough Lipans left to follow us far."
He and Two Knives, therefore, had about the same object in view when they rode out together in advance of their combined force after supper. The sun was setting, but it would be a good while yet before dark.
The miners were all mounted, and nobody would have guessed how much extra weight they were carrying. They were drawn up now in a close rank in front of their little camp, in which they had not left a single guard. Two Knives asked about that.
"What for?" replied Skinner. "What good to leave men? If the Lipans want to rob wagon they kill the men we leave. Suppose Lipans do as they agree, camp safe? No. It will take all the men we've got to fight the Apaches."
That was good-sense, and Two Knives only said "Ugh!" to it; but his next question meant more.
"How about fight? Tell chief what do."
"No, I won't. It's your fight more than mine. If you want us to go ahead, we will go. If you say we are to keep back and let you go ahead, all right. If we say we want to do anything you will think it is crooked. Better not say. You say."
The chief had been expecting to hear some plan of action, and to find something "crooked" in it. Captain Skinner had beaten him at once and completely.
"Then you ride along with Lipans."
"No. The hearts of your young braves are hot and bitter. My men are angry. Must keep apart. Have fight among ourselves. No good."
There was no denying the good-sense of that, and Two Knives had no fear at all but what his pale-face allies would come back after their wagon, extra horses and mules. Of course they would stick to property for which they had shown themselves so ready to fight, and he could not suspect that they now had the best part of it carefully stowed away around them.
"Ugh! Pale-faces can't go ahead. Not stay behind. What then?"
"You say. We go."
"Ride left hand, then. Away off there. Not too far. We go this way. Both find Apaches. Come together then."
"All right. That'll suit us. Send some braves along to see that we don't run away."
Two Knives would have done so if Captain Skinner had not asked for it; but he instantly suspected a cunning plot for the destruction of as many braves as he might send, and he replied,
"Ugh! No good. Pale-faces take care of themselves to-night."
So both of them got what they wanted.
Two Knives believed that by keeping to the right he should make a circuit and surprise the Apache camp, while the miners would be sure to meet any outlying force by riding toward it in a straight line.
Captain Skinner's one idea was to get as far as possible from the Lipans, he hardly cared in what direction. To the "left" was also to the southward, and so he was better off than he had hoped for.
"Go slow, boys," he said to his men. "We must go right across every stream we come to. The more water we can put behind us the better."
The Lipans also advanced with caution at first, keenly watching the distrusted miners until they were hidden from them by the rolls of the prairie and the increasing darkness.
"Cap," said Bill, as they rode along, "why can't we turn now and win back the camp?"
"Yes, we could do it. And win another fight and lose some more men. Perhaps all of us. I'm not in any hurry for that."
The line on which the Captain was leading them slanted away more and more toward the south, but not so much as yet that it need have aroused the suspicions of To-la-go-to-de's keen-eyed spies who were keeping track of them.
They reached a good-sized brook, and the moment they were over it the Captain shouted,
"That gets bigger, or it runs into something before it's gone far. That's our chance, boys."
Nothing could be surer, for all the brooks in the world do that very thing.
Besides, that brook was running in the direction in which the miners wanted to go, and they now pushed forward more rapidly.
"If I knew where the Apache village was," said the Captain, "I'd go near enough to see if we could pick up some ponies. But we won't waste any time looking for it."
The men had plenty of comments to make, but not one of them was willing to set up his own judgment against that of the ragged little Captain. They would never have seen that village if it had not been for the river itself.
The brook was a true guide. In due time it led the miners to the place where it poured its little contribution into the larger stream, and that looked wider and gloomier by night than by day.
"No ford right here, boys. The water runs too still and quiet. We must follow it down."
"Why not follow it up, Captain?"
"Swamps. Can't you see?"
"Wall, no, I can't."
"I can, then. It's half a sort of lake. The river comes out of it. Lower down it'll run faster, and we'll find some shallow place."
"May run against Apaches."
"Got to take our chances."
There was no help for it, but every pair of eyes among them was as busy as the dim light would let it be, while they rode along the bank.
If they could but find a ford!
They thought they found one once, and a tall horseman wheeled his horse down the bank and into the placid water.
"Careful, now. Feel your way a foot at a time," shouted Skinner.
"'Tain't three feet deep yet, and it's a good bottom."
It did not seem to get any deeper until he was half-way across, and the rest were getting ready to follow him, when his horse seemed to stumble and plunge forward.
There was a splash and a smothered cry, and that was all. Days afterward an Apache hunter found a stray horse, all saddled and bridled, feeding on the bank near the spot where he had swum ashore, but nobody ever saw any more of his rider. He had too many pounds of stolen gold about him, heavier than lead, and it had carried him to the bottom instantly.
"Boys," said Captain Skinner, "I'll try the next ford myself. I was half afraid of that."
Every man of them understood just what had happened, and knew that it was of no use for them to do anything but ride along down the bank.
There was not a great deal farther to go before a sharp string of exclamations ran along the line.
"See there!"
"Camp-fires yonder!"
"That's the Apache village!"
"It's on the other shore!"
"Hark, boys! Hear that—off to the northward? There's a fight going on. Ride now. We're away in behind it."
Captain Skinner was right again. By pushing on along the bank of the river he was soon in full view of the village, but there was very little of it to be seen at that time of night.
At the same time, just because he was so near it, he ran almost no risk at all of meeting any strong force of Apaches. The sound of far-away fighting had somehow ceased, but the Captain did not care to know any more about it.
"Silence, boys. Forward. Our chance has come."
He never dreamed of looking for a ford there by the village, and there were no squaws to find it for him or point it out. More than a mile below he came to the broad, rippling shallow the Apache warriors had reported to their chief, and into this he led his men without a moment's hesitation.
"Steady, boys; pick your tracks. Where the ripples show, the bottom isn't far down, but it may be a little rough."
A large part of it was rough enough, but Captain Skinner seemed to be able to steer clear of anything really dangerous, and in a few minutes more he was leading them out on the southerly shore.
"Now, boys," he said, "do you see what we've done?"
"We've got across the river," said Bill, "without any more of us gettin' drownded."
"That's so; but we've done a heap more than that. We've put the Apache village between us and the Lipans, and all we've got to do is to strike for the Mexican line."
That was all, and yet at least half of them had something to urge in favor of a night prowl around the Apache village, to see if they could not steal a few ponies.
"My load's gettin' powerful heavy, Cap," said one.
"We want pack ponies for our provisions," said another.
"After we get some."
"Boys," said Captain Skinner, "if that band of Apaches once gets on our track we won't need many more provisions. I'm going to give 'em as wide a berth as ever I can."
Again the Captain showed his superior wisdom, and he hardly permitted them to halt until the sun was rising. Just then the foremost man sent back a loud shout of,
"Here's another river!"
"That's all right," said Captain Skinner. "Now I know where we are."
"Where is it, then?" said Bill.
"The first river we forded was the north fork of the Yaqui, and this is the other fork. When we're on the other bank of that, we're in Mexico. We can go in any line we please then."
The whole band broke out into a chorus of cheers.
Whatever may have been their reason for wishing to get out of the United States, particularly that part of it, it must have been strong enough to make them anxious. They were not contented for a moment until this second "fork" was also forded.
"Cap," asked Bill, "is this Mexico, all around here?"
"I believe it is."
"Then don't you think we'd better go for a few Mexican deer? It's nigh breakfast time."
It would be necessary to hunt for something unless they were to starve. A good place for a camp was selected, the weary horses were unsaddled, all but the half dozen ridden by the hunters, and then the hungry miners could at last find time to "wonder if the Lipans are looking round that prairie after us."
"They won't find us," said Captain Skinner. "Start your fires, boys, I heard a rifle. One of them has struck his game quick."
So he had, but it was a queer kind of "Mexican deer." It had long, smooth, sharp horns and a long tail, and when the miners came to carve that venison one of them said,
"Boys, it's the first beef we've had in two months."
"Cap," said another, "do you reckon thar's a cattle ranch around here?"
"Not so near the Apache range as this is."
"How came this critter here, then?"
"I kin tell you," said the miner who had shot that tall, long-legged, long-horned Mexican steer. "Thar was more of 'em. Wild as buffler. This one wasn't even branded. They're just no man's cattle, they are."
"That's it," said Captain Skinner. "There are plenty of stray herds hereaway without any owner. The natives kill them whenever they want beef, just as we've killed this one. It isn't the best kind of eating, though. I'd rather look for a little deer-meat by-and-by."
Wild beef was better than nothing at all, however, and a busy lot of cooks were they for a long time after the first pieces of it were brought in.
They could talk, too, as well as eat, and the result of all their discussion was that they would do precisely as Captain Skinner had advised at the beginning of it.
"We sha'n't be safe, boys, till we get to some kind of town. We can scatter after that, but we'd best keep together for a while. This is a powerful uncivilized strip of country that we've got into. I've been down this way before, and I know what I'm talking about."
If the Lipan chief could but have known, when he set out from his camp that evening, what had been determined on by Many Bears and his councillors, he might have proceeded more wisely. The Apache chief did not even go over the river, nor did any great number of his warriors. Those who went came back almost immediately, and Murray saw that nothing more could be done in behalf of peace.
"Send Warning come with braves?" inquired Many Bears, when at last his whole force was gathered, impatient to be led away.
"No. We two will stay and help take care of camp. Pale-faces make big peace with Lipans not long ago. Bad for us to strike them."
The chief could understand that.
An Indian of any tribe is held to be bound by the treaties made by his people. The younger braves sometimes forget their duty as completely as some young white men do, but an old warrior, a wise man, like Send Warning, was naturally expected to know better. He did not lose anything, therefore, in the good opinion of his new friends, and the only reply of Many Bears was, "Ugh! Good. Stay with camp. Lodge ready. Lipans never get near camp. All safe."
It might not have been so entirely safe, a few hours later, if Captain Skinner and his miners had known, when they passed it so nearly, that all its fighting population were then miles away on the prairie.
Not many miles, however, for Many Bears was thinking of Murray's assertion that his enemies would surely come to attack him, and he did not intend to let them get by him in the dark. They came pretty near it, after all, widely as the Apaches spread themselves, and keenly as they kept up their lookout.
To-la-go-to-de's grand "circuit" would have succeeded, and he would have dashed in upon the unprotected camp, if it had not been for a mere dwarf of a young brave who had stolen that opportunity to go on his "first war-path." He had done so without permission from his elders, and so kept well away from them, for fear some old warrior or chief might send him back to camp in disgrace.
Boy as he was, however, his ears were of the best, and he knew the sound of the feet of many horses. He heard them coming, and then he knew by the sudden silence that they had halted.
It was just at that moment that the spies of Two Knives came racing up to announce the suspicious change of direction on the part of the miners, and the chief was considering the matter.
"Not go back to camp?"
"No," said one of the Lipan braves, pointing toward the south. "All pale-faces go that way."
"Ugh. Good. Pale-face chief very cunning. Not want to run against Apaches. Go way around. Get there before we do. We ride."
The Apache boy had not waited for them to start again. He had promptly wheeled his pony and dashed away through the darkness with the news.
He had not far to go before he fell in with a squad of his own people, and his work was done. Older and wiser braves than himself, with eyes and ears as keen as his own, rode forward to keep watch of the advancing Lipans, while the others lashed their ponies fiercely away to spread the warning.
Many Bears had no notion of fighting so terrible an enemy with less than his whole force, and he was in no hurry to begin. Orders were sent for every body to fall back without being seen, and the Lipans were allowed to come right along, with the mistaken idea that they were about to make a surprise. It is bad to try such a thing as that and then be surprised yourself instead of astonishing anybody else.
The Lipans were moving in two long, scattered ranks, one about a hundred yards in advance of the other, expecting at any moment to come in sight of the camp-fires of the Apaches, or to meet some stray scout or other, when suddenly old To-la-go-to-de himself rose in his saddle, and sent back a low, warning cry. He had detected the neighborhood of enemies. He had seen shadowy forms flitting along in the gloom around him, and he was not sure but he had heard the beat of hoofs upon the sod.
In half a minute after he had uttered the warning cry which so suddenly halted his warriors, he was quite sure he heard such sounds, and a great many others.
First came a scattering but hot and rapid crash of rifle firing, then a fierce chorus of whoops and yells; and then, before the two ranks of Lipans could join in one body, a wild rush of shouting horsemen dashed in between them. There was a twanging of bows, a clatter of lances, more firing, with greater danger of somebody getting hit than there had been at first, and Two Knives found his little band assailed on all sides at once by superior numbers. The orders of Many Bears were that the rear rank of his foes should only be kept at bay at first, so that he could centre nearly all his force upon the foremost squad. The latter contained a bare two dozen of chosen warriors, and their courage and skill were of little use in such a wild hurly-burly. To-la-go-to-de and three more even suffered the disgrace of being taken prisoners, knocked from their ponies, tied up, and led away toward the Apache village. Had Captain Skinner and his miners been on hand, with all the Lipans they had killed or wounded, the result might have been different. But Captain Skinner was hurrying his men toward the ford, and nothing could restore to usefulness the warriors who had been smitten by their bullets.
The rear rank of the Lipans had made a brave charge at once, but it had taught them all they needed to know. That was a lost battle, and their only remaining hope was in the speed of their horses. They turned from that fruitless charge as one man, and rode swiftly away—swiftly, but not wildly, for they were veterans, and they kept well together. They were dangerous men to follow, and the main body of their foes was not yet ready to try it.
By the time old Two Knives and his three warriors were safely tied up, his fugitives' "rear rank" had galloped quite a distance, all the while successfully beating off the squads of "young braves" that annoyed them.
There is an old proverb that "a stern chase is always a long chase," and the Lipans were even better mounted than their pursuers. Besides, they all knew exactly what to do, and the night seemed to be getting darker, as if for their benefit. They could not mistake their way, and there were very few Apaches near them when they at last rode into their own camp.
There was no time for them to throw away in talking over their defeat, but they seemed to be united in their opinion that it was in some way due to bad faith on the part of Captain Skinner and his miners. If there was no time for anything else, therefore, enough could be spared for gathering the horses and mules of the pale-faces and setting their wagon on fire. They did the same with their own, after taking out of it all they could carry in any other way. They would have some good plunder to show on their return home, if they should get there, but what account could they give of the loss of their great war-chief and so many of his best braves, horses and all?
The Apaches were beginning to show themselves on the borders of the camp, and to send threatening whoops and distant shots into it, before the remnant of the Lipans were ready to move.
They sent their quadrupeds and wounded men ahead, toward the mouth of the pass by which they had entered that valley, and behind these the warriors rode sullenly along, every one of them longing for an opportunity to strike one more blow before he crossed the mountains. Nothing of the kind could be done that night, but there was no saying what might come into their angry minds before morning. They would have plenty of time to think after they were once safe in the pass, for their enemies would not dream of following them among the rocks.