Gold Part 29

"Bagsby," I whispered, "there's a fire not more than a half mile away."

He too lay down in order to get my angle of view.

"It's not McNally," he p.r.o.nounced after a moment's careful inspection, "for it's too big a fire, and it's a lot more than half a mile away.

That's a good big fire. I think it's Injuns."

"Probably the same gang that lifted our hosses!" cried Buck.

"Probably," agreed Bagsby. He sat upright and peered at us through the dim moonlight. "Want to get after them?" he inquired.

"You bet!" said Buck emphatically, "They may have McNally, and if they haven't, they've got our horses."

"There's six of us and we can sh.o.r.e make it interesting for that lot,"

agreed Yank. "Can we get to where they are?"

"I think so," said Bagsby.

We rode for another hour, slanting down the mountainside toward the flickering fire. Every time a horse rolled a rock or broke a dried branch it seemed to me that the mountains reverberated from end to end.

I don't believe I allowed myself to weigh over six ounces all told.

Finally we left the slope for the bottom of the valley.

"I'd rather be below their camp than above it. It's going to be hard to get out this way," complained Bagsby, "but it's the best we can do." He dismounted us, and we crept forward another half mile, leading our animals.

"This is as close as I dare take the hosses," whispered Bagsby.

"Vasquez, you stay here with them," he said in Spanish, "and when I yell twice quick and sharp, you answer so we'll know where to find you. Come on!"

We stole forward slowly. The fire leaped and flared beneath the widespread branches of a tree. Around it lay a half dozen or so rec.u.mbent shapes wrapped in blankets. How many more might be lying beyond the light circle we could not tell. Beyond them we saw dimly the forms of dozing horses. Obeying a signal from the old trapper, we circled the camp until we were on the same side as the animals. They raised their heads and blew softly at us; but we lay still, and shortly they quieted down.

"Now," breathed Bagsby, "when I give the word, fire. And each man grab a horse by the picket rope, stampede the rest, and hustle back to Vasquez.

Ready!"

We raised our pieces, but before the command to fire was given, one of the sleepers threw aside his blanket, stretched himself and arose. It was a white man!

I confess that for a moment I turned physically sick.

"h.e.l.lo!" called Bagsby, quite unmoved.

The white man seized his rifle, and the rec.u.mbent forms leaped to life.

"Who are you?" he demanded sharply. "Speak quick!"

"Keep yore ha'r on!" drawled the trapper, advancing into the light.

"We're perfectly respectable miners, out looking for a lost man; and we saw yore fire."

The rest of us uttered a yell of joy and relief. One of the men who had been sleeping around the fire was McNally himself.

We drew together, explaining, congratulating. The strangers, six in number, turned out to be travellers from the eastern side of the ranges.

They listened with interest and attention to our account of the Indian attack. McNally explained that he had been uncertain of his route in the dark; so that when he had caught sight of the fire he had made his way to it. We were still engaged in this mutual explanation when we were struck dumb by a long-drawn-out yell from the direction of our own horses.

"It is Vasquez," explained Barry. "He wants to let us know where he is,"

and he answered the yell.

But at that moment one of our own horses dashed up to the bunch of picketed animals and wheeled, trembling. Its rope bridle dangled broken from its head. Sam Bagsby darted forward to seize the hanging cord.

"It's cut!" he cried. "Quick! Out across the valley, boys!"

We followed him into the moonlight, grasping our rifles. A moment later a compact band swept toward us at full speed, our horses in the lead, their rope halters dangling, a dozen Indians on horseback following close at their heels and urging them on.

"Shoot, boys!" yelled Bagsby, discharging his own piece.

Our rifles cracked. It was impossible to take aim; and I am sure we hit nothing. But the horses swerved aside from the long fiery flashes, and so ran into the picketed lot and stopped. The Indians flew on through our scattered line without stopping, pursued by a sputter of shots from our Colt's revolvers.

"A while ago I was sorry we had to stop above camp," said Bagsby with satisfaction; "but it was a lucky thing for us. They had to come by us to git out."

"And Vasquez?" Yank struck across our exultation.

CHAPTER XXV

BATTLE

We had a good deal of trouble finding the exact spot where we had left him, for we could get no answer to our calls. He was down in a heap, covered with blood, and quite dead. The savages had scalped him. In our long companionship we had grown very fond of him, for he was a merry, good-natured, willing soul.

"G.o.d!" cried Bagsby, deeply moved. "I'll put a ball through the next one of those devils I meet!"

We returned slowly to the fire, carrying the body, which we laid reverently one side and covered with a blanket. In all our hearts burned a fierce, bitter anger. Sullenly we turned to prepare ourselves a meal from the supplies our hosts offered us.

The latter were the father and five sons of a backwoods family from the northwest--Pine, by name. They were all tall, heavily built men, slow moving, slow speaking, with clear, steady eyes, a drawling way of talking, and the appearance always of keeping a mental reservation as to those with whom they conversed. I suppose they were ignorant enough men, as far as education goes, but they always impressed me as being somehow a superior type. Possibly it was because of the fact that they perfectly corresponded to their environment, which was the wilderness.

In detail, the old man was upward of sixty, his beard long and grizzled, his hair about his shoulders. The oldest son would count about thirty, and the others went down in stepladder fashion to the youngster, a fine, big, smooth-faced boy of sixteen. They were named after old Pine's favourite heroes, evidently. There was David Crockett Pine, and Governor Boggs Pine, and President Tyler Pine, and Daniel Boone Pine, and Old Hickory Pine, the youngest, an apparent contradiction in terms. They were called by their odd first names--Governor, President, Old--without the least humour.

Just now they stood tall and grim behind us as we ate; and the gray dawn and the rose dawn grew into day. n.o.body said anything until we had finished. Then Yank rose to his full height and faced the attentive men.

"I want vengeance," he announced in an even voice, stretching forth his long, lean arm. "Those devils have harried our stock and killed our pardner; and I'm not going to set quiet and let them do it." He turned to us: "Boys," said he, "I know you're with me thar. But I'm going to git our friends yere to go with us. Old man," he said to Pine, "you and yore sons help us with this job, and we'll locate you on the purtiest diggings in these hills."

"You bet!" agreed McNally.

"You don't need to make my boys no offer," replied Pine slowly. "Those divils were after our hosses too; and they'd have got them if you hadn't come along. We'd been told by a man we believe that there wan't no Injuns in this country, or you wouldn't have seen us sleeping es close to our fire. Whar do you-all reckon to come up with them?"

Our old trapper interposed.

"Their rancheree is down the valley somewhars," said Bagsby, "and we'll have to scout for it. We must go back to camp first and get a ready."

McNally and I murmured against this check to immediate action, but saw the point after a moment. The Pines packed their slender outfit; we bound the body of our poor friend across his horse, and mournfully retraced our steps.