The Cave in the Mountain Part 19

"Are you sure that it was done by the Indians?" asked Fred, a little frightened at learning that they had been so close while he slept.

"Thar ain't a bit of doubt. I've looked the ground over, and thar's the trail, as plain as the nose on your face."

"How many?"

"Two."

"And they did it during the night?"

"No," replied the scout, displaying his wonderful woodcraft. "The varmints come yesterday arternoon, or just at dusk, arter I'd took supper and left."

"How do you know that?"

"I'd be a fool if I couldn't tell by the look of the trail how long ago it war made."

It seemed impossible that such was the fact, and yet, young as was Fred, he had heard of such things, and the scout spoke after the manner of one who meant what he said.

"Begorra, but it's meself that has it!" exclaimed Mickey, with a sudden lighting up of the countenance; "they're the same two spalpeens that took your hoss down by the Staked Plain, and then follyed ye up and did the same thing over again, just as ye was going into Fort Severn."

But the scout shook his head.

"The varmints don't know much about pity, but that's too rough a thing even for a Comanche to repeat. I've a s'picion that Lone Wolf had a hand in that, and I'm going for him. Come along."

And the indignant Sut strode out of camp, followed by his friends. He was not the man to submit to such a loss, and they saw that he was in deadly earnest. He neither spoke nor looked behind him for the next quarter of an hour, nor were his friends able to tell what direction he was following, for he changed so often, winding in and out among the trees, that they could form no conjecture as to the general course taken.

They saw that he was following a trail, for he continually looked down at the ground in front of him, and then glanced to the right and left, occasionally inclining his head, as though he was listening for something which he expected to hear. He appeared to be altogether unconscious of the fact that he had companions at all and they sought to imitate his stealthy, cat-like movement, without venturing to speak. After traveling the distance mentioned, and while they were moving along in the same cautious way, the scout suddenly wheeled on his knee, and faced them.

"See yer," said he; "it won't do for you to travel any further."

"What's up?" asked Mickey.

"Why, the trail's getting too hot. I ain't fur from them horses."

"Well, doesn't ye want us to stand by and obsarve the shtyle in which you are going to scoop them in?"

Simpson shook his head.

"Ye are both too green to try this kind of business. I never could get a chance at them varmints if I took yer along. All you've got to do is to stay yer till I get back. That won't be long."

"Suppose you don't get back at all?" asked Fred, anxiously.

"Then yer needn't wait."

"But ain't it probable that some of the Apaches will visit us?"

The scout was quite confident that the contingency would not occur; but, as long as they were in that part of the world, so long were they in danger of the redskins. It was never prudent to lay aside habits of caution; but he did not believe they were liable to molestation at that time. He charged them to keep quiet and always on the alert, and to expect his return within a couple of hours, although he might be delayed until noon. They were not to feel any apprehension unless the entire day should pa.s.s without his coming. Still, even that would be possible, he said, without implying anything more than that he had encountered unexpected difficulties in regaining his horse. They were still to wait for him until the morrow, and if he continued absent they were at liberty to conclude that the time had come for him to "pa.s.s in his checks." and they were to make the effort to reach home the best way they could. With this understanding they separated.

At the time Sut left his friends the trail was exceedingly "hot," as he expressed it, and he was confident that within the next half hour he could force matters to an issue. The scout was of the opinion that a couple of Apaches had accidently struck his trail, or happened directly upon his norse while he was grazing, and, without suspecting his ownership, aad taken him away. The trail led toward the Apache camp, although by a winding course, and that was not far away. He was desirous of coming up with the marauders before they joined in with the others. In that case he would consider himself fully equal to the task of getting even with them; but it was not likely that they would go into camp when they were so close to the main body.

Shortly after, to his great surprise, he came upon his mustang, tied by a long lariat to the limb of a tree, and contentedly grazing upon the gra.s.s, which was quite abundant. There was not the sign of an Indian visible.

"Skulp me! if that ain't a purty way to manage such things!" he exclaimed, astonished at the shape the matter had taken. "Them varmints couldn't have knowed that Sut Simpson owned that hoss, or they'd have tied him up tighter than that, and they'd had somebody down yer to watch him; but they war a couple of greenys, that's mighty sartin. It's a wonder they didn't fetch out some of thar mustangs, and leave 'em whar I could lay my hands onto 'em. But I rather think I've got my own hoss this time, as easy as a chap need expect to get anything in this world."

There was something so curious in the fact of the horse being left alone that Sut was a little suspicious, and decided to reconnoitre thoroughly before venturing further. He was partly hidden behind a large tree and had been so cautious and noiseless in his movements that his mustang, which was one of the quickest to detect the approach of any one, was unaware of his presence.

Sut was on the point of going forward, when a movement in the wood, on the other side of where the animal was grazing, attracted his attention, and he paused. At the same instant his steed lifted his head. There could be no doubt as to the cause, for within the next minute the figure of an Indian stepped forward toward the animal, and proceeded to examine him with a care and minuteness which showed that he expected to identify his ownership.

The eyes of Simpson lit up, and an expression of exultation crossed his countenance, not merely because the redskin before him was in his power, but because he recognized him as no one else but Lone Wolf, the Apache war-chief.

It looked as if the horse-thieves had approached the vicinity of camp with their plunder, and then, securing him to the branch of the tree, had gone in and reported what they had done. Lone Wolf, suspecting, perhaps, that it was the property of his enemy, Sut Simpson, had stolen out quietly and alone to satisfy himself. He knew all the "trade-marks" of the hunter so well that he could not be deceived. This was the theory which instantly occurred to Sut, who muttered to himself:

"Oh, it's _mine_, and I'm _here_, though you don't think it, and we'll soon shake hands over it!"

The scout speedily a.s.sured himself that Lone Wolf was alone--that he had no half-dozen "retainers" who would immediately precipitate themselves upon him the instant a row should begin. Lone Wolf had no rifle with him, but carried his huge knife at his girdle--one of the most formidable instruments ever seen.

As he walked slowly about the mustang, scrutinizing him very carefully, he brought himself within a yard or two of where Sut Simpson crouched. The latter waited until he was the nearest, when he stepped forward, with his drawn knife in hand, and, placing himself directly in front of the astounded war-chief, said:

"_Now_, Lone Wolf, we'll make our accounts square!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

BORDER CHIVALRY.

As the scout uttered these words, the Apache whirled like lightning and drew his knife. His swarthy, painted face glowed with pa.s.sion, and his black eyes twinkled with a deadly light. Seeing that he had no weapon but the knife, Sut Simpson, with a certain rude chivalry that did him credit, left his rifle leaning against the tree, while he advanced with a weapon corresponding to that of his enemy, so that both stood upon the same footing.

"Lone Wolf is glad to meet the white dog that he has hunted so long," said the chieftain, speaking English like a native.

With a sardonic grin Sut replied:

"That's played out, old Pockared"--alluding to the chieftain's pitted face. "I'm just as mad at yer as I kin be, without yer getting up any fancy didoes to upset my nerves. I've come for yer this time, and the best thing yer kin do is to proceed to business."

They were facing each other with drawn knives--almost toe to toe, and each waiting for the other to lead off. It would have been hard to tell which stood the best chance of winning.

Lone Wolf suddenly sprang forward like a panther, and made a vicious lunge with his knife, Sut easily avoiding it by leaping back, when, in turn, he made a similar attempt upon his adversary, who escaped in precisely the same manner. But the scout noticed an unaccountable thing. Lone Wolf had dropped his knife!

True, he picked it up like a flash, and put himself on guard, but how it was that a veteran like him could have made such a slip was totally inexplainable to his foe. But the explanation came the next moment, when the chief, without removing his eyes from those of the white man, cautiously changed the knife to his left hand. His right arm was injured in some way, so that it was unreliable. He had shown this, first by dropping the weapon while attempting to use it, and he showed it again by shifting it to his left hand, thus placing himself at a frightful disadvantage.

Sut saw no wound, yet there could be no doubt of the truth, and his feelings changed on the instant. He felt himself the meanest of men to attempt to overcome an almost helpless foe.

"Lone Wolf," said he, still looking him straight in the eyes, "why don't yer hold yer knife in the hand that yer generally do?"

"Lone Wolf can slay the dog of a white man with which hand he may choose."

"Yer haven't been able to do it with both hands during all these years that you've been tryin', when yer've had yer whole tribe to help yer; but don't make a fool of yerself, Lone Wolf. Are your right arm hurt?"