Through Apache Lands Part 10

CHAPTER XIX.

A TERRIBLE MEETING.

As he moved along, weary and worn, the memory of the horrid fight he had seen by the camp fire, and especially the picture of those three stark, b.l.o.o.d.y forms that lay stretched upon the earth, seemingly watching every movement he made, followed and weighed him down like some smothering incubus. Then he saw, more vividly than ever before, the mountainous task ahead. With no horse, and the hundreds of miles of mountain and prairie, with the dangers besetting him on every hand, what possible hope had he for believing he was ever to reach his destination? The gloom of the night, the shadow of what he had so recently witnessed, and his own exhausted condition, no doubt had much to do with the distress; for his prospects were certainly as good as at morning, when he was so full of enthusiasm.

"I can't travel any further," he finally exclaimed, "and what's the use?

It won't do any good."

When he paused in his wearisome tramp, he happened to be close to a tree, quite lofty, with numerous limbs, some of which were quite near the ground. It struck him at once that it would be a good plan to climb into this, and ensconce himself among the branches. At any rate, he was certain to be out of the way of the crawling snakes, and no wild animal could steal upon him while he was unconscious.

Without pausing more than a moment to consider, he ascended the tree, and, a short distance from the ground secured the very position he wanted. Here the limbs crossed and recrossed, and gnarled themselves in such a way, that the most pleasant kind of bed imaginable was found, and he stretched out his weary limbs upon it, thanking Heaven that had guided him to such a favorable place.

"I hope Lone Wolf won't be able to follow me here," was the wish he expressed, as he resigned himself to slumber.

But gentle sleep had not yet closed his eyelids when he was alarmed by hearing something beneath him. His first supposition was that it was Lone Wolf, for the sound resembled the stealthy tread of some person upon the soft earth; but after listening a few minutes he became satisfied that it was some animal instead.

"It's a wolf or panther that has scented my trail," was his conclusion, as he leaned over and peered cautiously down among the branches.

The moon shone more brightly than upon any night since he had started, but the shadow of the trees themselves obscured his view so much that his vision was of little use to him. It seemed to him, however, when he looked downward in this fashion, that once or twice he caught sight of a shadowy creature, whisking back and forth, leaping about like a dog, and apparently ready to make a bound upward among the branches.

But he could not make certain of what he saw, although there could be no doubt but that he heard something, and that some kind of a dangerous creature was close at hand.

"I guess he isn't going to hurt me," was his conclusion, after watching and listening a half hour, and after finding a heavy drowsiness was stealing over him. In this comfortable state of mind, he soon closed his eyes, and relapsed into a deep, refreshing sleep, which lasted an hour or more, when it ended in a peculiar manner. Very few boys are apt to lie quiet in their beds, and Ned Chadmund, in turning over upon his side, turned completely out of bed, and dropped through the branches to the ground.

The fall was so slight that it did not hurt him, except in the disagreeable shock that was inevitable. It flashed on him on the instant, and, recalling those stealthy footsteps that had so frightened him, he instantly sprang for the trunk, and began climbing with all the haste at his command. He was almost within reach of the limbs, when he heard a growl, and some denizen of the forest came plunging toward him.

With a thrill of terror, the lad made a tremendous effort, caught the limb with one hand, swung his leg over and drew himself up. As he did so, he felt distinctly the wind made by the body of the beast, as it leaped upward, and snapped with his huge jaws at his legs, which were withdrawn from its fangs just as they closed together. The creature, whatever it was, made a running leap, that carried him some distance beyond, when he struck the ground and ran a few leaps before turning about and retracing his steps.

Without waiting to gain a more distinct view, the lad crept back to his perch, where he tremblingly awaited the moment when it was to bound up among the limbs and attack him. After gaining his former position, he sat for a few minutes shivering like one with the ague, forgetting even to think of the revolver with which to defend himself in case the brute a.s.saulted him. But it may have been that the dumb creature believed that he was already frightened to death, and there was no occasion for attempting anything further. At any rate nothing more was seen or heard of him.

Ned had been too thoroughly shaken up to gain any more sleep. He sat through the remaining hours of the night without closing his eyes a moment in slumber. They were the longest and the dreariest that he ever spent, but when the welcome light of morning came his foe had departed.

The wanderer waited a half hour or more, and carefully reconnoitered the grounds before descending; but, a.s.sured that the coast was clear, he came down to _terra firma_ again and took up his line of march. His fear now was that his presence in the neighborhood might be discovered by Lone Wolf or some of his band, and, scarcely pausing long enough to swallow a few mouthfuls of water from a stream near at hand, he hastened forward, with his face toward the west.

It became evident, after journeying a short distance, that he was again following a distinctly-marked trail, one that was originally made by animals, most probably buffaloes, in their migrations from one section to another, and had been taken advantage of by men whose business or inclinations called them in the same direction. Here and there he saw marks that had been made by the hoofs of horses, and more than once he was certain he observed the trail of moccasins. The path was more direct and less laborious to travel, and he began to believe that, if he were left alone, he might succeed in reaching safety at some time or other.

For some two hours he tramped along through a section that gradually lost its mountainous character as he neared the rolling prairie beyond.

He kept continually looking back and around him, on the alert for Indians; but not a sign was discovered, until he approached an exceptionally rocky place, where the trail wound round the ma.s.ses of stone at such a sharp angle that the view was less than a dozen feet.

With no thought of danger, Ned walked around this corner, and on the instant found himself face to face with a swarthy Indian warrior who must have seen him approaching, and, dismounting from his horse, stood back and awaited his approach. That astounded look revealed not only this, but that the Indian was Lone Wolf.

Fate had brought the two together again, at the very time the heart of the weary fugitive was beating high with hope. There was no chance for retreat or hope of avoiding him. The eyes of the painted Apache glowed with a demoniac light, and his fingers twitched as he placed his right hand upon the buckhorn handle of a knife at his girdle.

"You run away--you see well--you lie--now I will cut out your eyes, and you will not see to run away again!"

There was no doubt that such was the purpose of the warrior, as he advanced upon the lad, who suddenly thrust his hand into his waistcoat for his revolver.

It was gone!

During the night it had dropped out without being noticed, and he was absolutely defenseless. He was breathless, paralyzed with terror.

"Yes, I will cut out your eyes, and then you will not see to run away,"

added the chief, striding toward him.

"Hold on thar, my copper-colored friend! This 'ere is a little row you kin settle with me, instead of that boy thar. Try that knife on my eyes, and while you're doing it, I'll try mine on yourn."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THIS 'ERE IS A LITTLE ROW YOU KIN SETTLE WITH ME, INSTEAD OF THAT BOY THAR."]

It was Tom Hardynge, the scout, who spoke thus opportunely.

CHAPTER XX.

WHITE VS. RED.

The hunter seemed to step forth from some crevice in the rocks, wherein he had been concealed, and strode forward in such a manner that Lone Wolf saw him at the very instant the first word was uttered.

The latter withdrew his gaze from the boy and turned with lightning-like swiftness upon his adversary, while the latter, as cool and self-possessed as if he were about to slice up an antelope or buffalo, continued approaching with his hunting knife firmly clasped in his right hand. The Indian, perceiving the character of the fight, flung his rifle several yards from him, where it was beyond the reach of both, and recoiling a single step, put himself in form to receive the charge of his a.s.sailant.

"Ned, my boy," said the latter, without looking at him, "get back.

There's no telling what may happen."

This was no more than a prudent caution. The fight was over the boy, and if Lone Wolf should find the battle going against him, he would resort to any treacherous trick by which to destroy the prize,--such, for instance, as a sudden dart upon the unsuspecting spectator and the plunging of his knife to his heart before the active hunter could thwart him. Ned obeyed his rescuer, whom he had never seen before, and stepped back full a dozen yards from the combatants, but with his eyes intently fixed upon them.

Tom was not the man to advance blindly to the a.s.sault, for none knew better than he did the character of the foe he was about to a.s.sail.

When, therefore, he was just within striking distance, he paused, and, with his grey eyes centered upon the black, snake-like orbs of the chief, began circling around him in a stealthy cat-like movement, on the lookout for some opening of which he might take advantage.

"Lone Wolf is a coward and a dog," he growled between his set teeth. "He fights with pappooses, but he is afraid of men."

This was said with the sole purpose of exasperating the warrior, who would thus have been placed at a slight disadvantage; but he was already like a concentrated volcano--calm outwardly, but surcharged with fire and death within. The taunt did not move his nerves an iota, and he replied in words which were scarcely less irritating.

"It is the boasting dog which never hurts. If Lone Wolf is a dog, why are you so afraid to come within his reach?"

The words were yet in his mouth when the scout dashed forward like a catapult and struck a tremendous blow, driven with such directness and swiftness that it could not have been parried. At the very instant Hardynge made the charge, Lone Wolf did the same, and the two similar blows, aimed at the same moment, encountered half way with such terrible violence that both knives were hurled twenty feet beyond over the cliff at their side, and irrevocably beyond their reach. This left them with no weapons except such as nature had provided them with, and, now that their blood was up and each was smarting under the pain of the first collision, they immediately closed in and grappled each other like a couple of infuriated gladiators.

Hardynge was a marvel of strength and activity, and so was the Apache.

The two were nearly evenly matched, a slight superiority in wrestling attaching to the white man, who, after a furious struggle of a minute or so, flung his antagonist as flat as could be, upon his back. He struck like an India-rubber ball, and, before Tom could fasten him down, so as to hold him, bounded up again and renewed his fight without a second's hesitation.

"The devil take you!" growled the maddened hunter, as he let drive a sledgehammer-like blow straight from the shoulder.

It encountered the chief fairly upon the forehead, with a force apparently sufficient to crush his skull, but it only sent him reeling back several paces, when his sinewy activity saved him from falling.