Gold Part 28

"That leaves us only four men to work the cradles," I objected. "Four men out of nine working."

"Well, thar won't be _no_ men out of nine a-workin' if you don't watch out," predicted Bagsby. "You-all forgit this is a self-supportin'

community. We got to work for our living, as well as for gold."

"The hunters might go out less," suggested McNally.

"The miners might eat less, then," replied Bagsby grimly. "This ain't what you'd call the best sort of a game country."

We came to it, of course, though with much grumbling. It seemed an almost excuseless waste of good energy; a heavy price in economic efficiency to pay for insurance against what seemed a very remote peril.

But we did not know, and our uncertainty gave way.

"But hang it!" cried Johnny, "here's more gold than a hundred men could begin to handle, and we're wasting more than half our resources."

"It do seem so," agreed Yank with his accustomed slow philosophy. "But we can put in longer hours because we rest oftener."

A week pa.s.sed, and we had almost forgotten our chance visitors. One day the two Spaniards, Buck Barry and I were at the cradle; Bagsby, Yank, and McNally were the hunters for the day. Johnny and Missouri Jones kept camp.

We had had a most successful morning, and were just stacking our tools preparatory to returning to camp for dinner. Buck Barry was standing near some small sage bushes at the upper end of the diggings. He was just in the act of lighting a freshly filled pipe, when he stopped as though petrified, the burning match suspended above the bowl of his pipe. Then he turned quickly toward the sage brush; and as he did so a bow tw.a.n.ged and an arrow sang past his head so close as actually to draw blood from the lobe of his ear. With a roar of anger Buck Barry raised his pickaxe and charged into the bush. We saw a figure rise from the ground, dash away, stumble flat. Before the man could get up again Buck Barry was upon him, and the pickaxe descended. At the same instant we heard a series of whoops and two shots in rapid succession from the direction of camp. Buck Barry came bounding out of the sage brush, and seized his rifle from under the bush where we had kept them.

"Come on!" he panted. "Let's get out of this!"

We ran as hard as we could go for a hundred yards, or until we had reached the flat of the river bottom. Then we paused, uncertain as to just what next to do.

"Wait a minute," said I. "I'll just take a look," and hurried up a little spur-knoll to the right. From that elevation I instantly caught sight of a crowd of Indians coming up the valley at full speed. Most of them were on horseback, but a number loped along on foot, keeping up with the animals. One look was enough. I raced down to my companions again; and we hastily took refuge in the only cover near enough to conceal us--a little clump of willows in a small, damp watercourse.

There we crouched, rifles ready.

I was terribly excited. The patter of the horses was now plainly audible, though, owing to the inequalities of the ground, they could not become visible farther than a hundred yards away. I trembled violently, and cursed myself for a coward, though I really do not think I was frightened. At any rate, I became deadly cool the moment the first savage appeared; and I drew a steady bead and toppled him off his horse before any one else had got in action. The shot brought them to a stand.

They had, I think, expected to find us in our ravine, and were surprised. Immediately I dropped the b.u.t.t of my rifle to the ground and began reloading. A shower of arrows flew toward us, but were deflected by the criss-cross of the willows. In fact, this lacework of stout branches seemed to be an excellent sort of armour against arrows. In the meantime my companions had each dropped his man; though Vasquez had better luck than skill, as his savage was only clipped in the leg. I fired once more, and elicited a howl. There could be no missing at the distance, unless a man quite lost his head; and personally I was too scared for that. Another shower of arrows rattled in the willows; then the band broke to right and left and raced away up the hills like mad.

They had no courage, and lost stomach for the fight at once when they found us prepared.

We were astonished and delighted, for we had fully expected to be ridden down. As soon as we were quite certain this sudden retreat was not a ruse, we came out from our shelter. How many wounded had made off--if any--we could not tell. Three dead bodies lay on the ground. To them we paid no attention, but, with many forebodings, hurried back to camp.

When we appeared in sight Missouri Jones ran out to meet us, his rifle over his arm.

"Where's Johnny?" I cried.

"He was down at the river a-getting water," said Jones, "and I ain't seen him since."

We all ran down to the edge of the river pool whence we drew our supply.

For a moment our hearts stood still, for no Johnny was in sight. Then he arose dripping from the middle of the pool.

"This water's cold," he remarked conversationally. "I think I'll come out. Anybody hurt?"

He waded ash.o.r.e, and shook himself like a dog.

"I didn't hear 'em until they were right on top of me; and I couldn't get away without being seen," said he; "so I just waded out and imitated a rock with my head."

We roared with laughter by way of relief.

"It isn't the first time, Johnny," said I.

"That's all right," put in Missouri Jones. "This is no joke. They got three of our hosses."

Then he told us his experience.

"I was just a-browning of the venison," he explained, "when I happened to look up, and thar was three of our hosses running off, tails up, and a half dozen Injuns a hoss-back driving 'em. I let drive with old Betsey and Johnny's gun, but they was about out of range. While I was looking after them about forty Injuns went past sky-hootin'. I suppose they thought the first lot had all the hosses, and so they didn't stop. The rest of the hosses, luckily, was asleep behind the cottonwoods. You bet I didn't call their attention to myself."

He exhibited the greatest satisfaction when he learned that we had accounted for four.

"That's something like Injun fighting," he observed, "though these are a pore, spiritless lot. The whole bag ain't worth more than one of them good hosses."

We did no more gold washing that day, but remained close in camp, consumed with anxiety for our companions. From time to time we fired a rifle, with the idea of warning them that something was amiss. The remaining half-dozen horses we ran into the corral.

Night fell and still the hunters did not return. We were greatly alarmed and distressed, but we could not think of anything to do, for we had not the least idea in what direction to look.

"Bagsby and Yank are old hands," speculated Missouri Jones consolingly.

"And the fact that Injuns is abroad would make them slow and careful."

None of us felt like turning in. We all sat outside on the ground around a little fire.

Toward midnight we heard voices; and a moment later Yank and Bagsby strode in out of the darkness.

"Where's McNally?" Yank instantly demanded. "Hasn't he come in yet?"

We told him we had seen nothing of the missing man.

"Well, he'll drift in pretty soon," said Bagsby. "We lost him in the darkness not two hours back."

They set to frying some venison steak. Excitedly and in antiphony Johnny and I detailed the day's adventure. Both the backwoodsmen listened in silence, but without suspending their cooking.

"They didn't bother McNally," Bagsby decided. "They'd drive those hosses away five or six miles before they'd stop; and McNally was with us just a little piece back. He'll be in by the time the venison is cooked."

But he was not; nor by an hour later. Then we decided that we must go out to look for him.

"We can't see nothin' till daylight," said Bagsby, "but we can get started back for the last place we saw him."

It was now about one o'clock in the morning. Bagsby appointed Vasquez, Missouri Jones, Buck Barry, Yank and myself to accompany him. Don Gaspar was suffering from a slight attack of malarial fever; and Johnny, to his vast disgust, was left to hold him company. We took each a horse, which we had to ride bareback and with a twisted rope "war halter."

Bagsby led the way, and we followed closely nose to tail. It was an interesting and wonderful experience, had I had more attention to give it, for we rode mysteriously neck deep in velvet darkness over strange hills, and awful shapes rose mysteriously, and the sky silvered with stars like the glittering of little waves. But my mind was filled with dread and foreboding, and a great anxiety for our merry, blue-eyed companion, and a very considerable wonder as to how our guide managed to find his way.

He did not hesitate, however, as to direction; only occasionally he had to stop and cast back and around for a way through. Often, at a low command from him, we dismounted and led our animals.

We proceeded thus for a long time--five or six miles, I should think. By the undefined feeling of dark s.p.a.ce at either hand I judged we must be atop a ridge. Bagsby halted.

"It was somewhere on this ridge we left him," said he. "I reckon now we'd just better set down and wait for dawn."

Accordingly we dismounted and drew together in a little group. Over the top of the great ranges a gibbous moon rose slowly. By her dim light I could make out the plunge on either side our ridge, and the other dark ridges across the way. Behind us our horses occasionally stamped a hoof or blew softly through their noses.

I lay flat on my back, and idly counted the stars. Happening to glance sidewise, I caught the flicker of a distant light.