CHAPTER XIX
A COLLISION
At this moment, the cheery voice of Adams called:
“There’s only about a hundred yards more of this, but we’ve now struck the worst part of the whole trail.”
“If it is any worse than what we have just passed, it won’t do to try it,” replied Captain Dawson, with the memory of his recent thrilling experience still vivid with him.
“We can do it, but we must foller a different plan.”
“What is that?”
“We must lead our animals. There are plenty of places where you can get off your horses with more comfort, but we can’t stand here doing nothing. Get to the ground the best way you know how.”
It was clear that the advice of the guide would have to be followed, and all four set about the task with the cool daring shown from the first. Since each man was to lead his animal, it was necessary to dismount in front, instead of slipping over the tail, as would have been easier. The beasts showed striking sagacity in this delicate task. The trail was so narrow that to dismount to the left, on the side of the dizzying precipice, made it impossible for a man to keep his poise, while to descend on the right, directly beside the body of the animal was almost certain to crowd him over into the gorge. Each, therefore, lowered himself with infinite care over the right shoulder of his steed, so well forward, that the horse by turning his head to the left afforded just enough room for the trick to be done. Every one dismounted in safety, each drawing a breath of relief when the exquisitely delicate task was accomplished.
Looking around in the gloom, Vose Adams saw that his friends stood on the ground.
“Are you all ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Brush from the rear.
“Hold the bridle so gentle that you can let go if your animal slips off: if he has to go over the precipice, there’s no need of your follering him.”
Each man took his Winchester in hand, and loosely grasping the bridle rein, began stealing forward, the captain’s loss compelling him to make his single arm answer for both purposes. The advance was necessarily slow, for it was made with the utmost care. The path could not have been more dangerous than for the brief stretch between them and the broad, safe support beyond.
Several times the trail so narrowed that each trembled through fear of not being able to keep his balance, while it seemed absolutely impossible for a horse to do so; but one of the strange facts connected with that intelligent animal is that, despite his greater bulk, he is generally able to follow wherever his master leads. So it was that when a miner carefully turned his head, he saw his steed following slowly but unfalteringly in his footsteps.
It was soon perceived that this perilous stretch did not take a straight course, but assumed the form of an immense, partial circle. When half way around, the plodders came in sight of a huge rent in the distant mountain wall, through which the sky showed nearly from the zenith to the horizon. In this immense V-shaped space shone the moon nearly at its full, and without a rift or fleck of cloud in front of its face.
A flood of light streamed through and between the encompassing peaks, tinging the men and animals with its fleecy veil, as if some of the snow from the crests had been sprinkled over them. On their left, the craggy wall sloped almost vertically downward, the projecting masses of rock displaying the same, fairy-like covering, ending in a vast, yawning pit of night and blackness, into whose awful depth the human eye could not penetrate.
On the right, the mass of stone, rock and boulder, rugged, broken and tumbled together, as if flung about by giants in sport, towered beyond the vision’s reach, the caverns, abysses and hollows made the blacker and more impenetrable by the moonlight glinting against the protruding masses.
It was as if a party of Titans had run their chisels along the flinty face of the mountain from the rear, gouging out the stone, with less and less persistency, until they reached the spot where the men and animals were creeping forward, when the dulled tools scarcely made an impression sufficient to support the hesitating feet.
Captain Dawson was but a few paces to the rear of Vose Adams’s mule, whose surety of step he admired and tried to imitate.
“Training seems able to accomplish anything,” reflected the captain; “I remember how Lieutenant Russell and I stopped on the further edge of this infernal place when we reached it one forenoon and spent several hours trying to find a safer path. It kept us in a tremor until we were across. Had any one told me that on the next journey I should try it in the night, I would have believed him crazy, but,” he grimly added, “I would have thought the same, if I had been told that a necessity like this would compel us to do so.”
The bridle rein was looped over his elbow, which extended behind him, the same hand grasping his rifle, so that he advanced partly sideways over the treacherous trail. He attempted to do nothing but look after his own footsteps. Sometimes, when it was a little harder to pull the rein, he slackened his pace. It would not do to hurry the animal, since a slight disturbance might cause him to loose his footing. The horse knew what was required of him and would do it better by being left wholly to himself.
It was because of this concentration of his mind upon the one thing that the captain failed to perceive that the mule in his front had stopped walking, until the rim of his slouched hat touched the tail of the motionless animal.
“Helloa, Vose, what’s the matter?”
The guide said something, but kept his face turned away, and his words, instead of being in the nature of an answer, were addressed to some one who confronted him. Adams was of slight stature, so that, although he stood erect, it was easy for the captain to look over his head and see what was beyond. That which was thus revealed was another horseman leading his animal and coming toward them. He was advancing in the same manner as the miners, that is by leading his horse, and, meeting our friends thus face to face, it was impossible for either party to pass: one or the other must give way and retreat.
A startling feature of this meeting was that the individual who thus confronted them was an Indian of gigantic stature. He was more than six feet in height and of massive proportions. He belonged to what were known as the “mountain Indians,” who were brave and of irrestrainable ferocity. They were the most dangerous people met by the miners in the early days on the Pacific slope.
Equity demanded that this particular specimen should back his horse over the few yards to the point where the trail broadened, for the task was possible of accomplishment, while the white men were unable to force their animals in safety for one-half of the distance behind them. Moreover, it was evident that this Indian had deliberately started over the trail, with the knowledge of the four white men approaching, so that a meeting was inevitable. He courted an encounter with them and was in a murderous mood.
Vose Adams knew all this and recognized the warrior as one of the dreaded Indians, with whom he was better acquainted than were his friends. He had had several scrimmages with them on his trips through the mountains, and held them in such wholesome fear that he contrived to avoid a direct conflict. The diminutive miner overflowed with pluck, but in a hand to hand encounter, must be only a child in the grasp of the aboriginal giant. The present situation, however, was peculiar.
There can be no doubt that this savage sought the meeting with the party, for on no other supposition can his acts be explained. He must have reasoned that on the narrow ledge his enemies would have to meet him one by one and engage him single handed. He was like a chamois that had lived all its life in these wild solitudes and was surer-footed than any white man. What a triumph it would be (and was it unreasonable to expect it?) for him to slay the insignificant pale face immediately in his front, shove his mule over the precipice, and then serve the remaining three in same fashion!
“Get out of this!” were the words which Vose Adams addressed to the Indian, directly after the question of Captain Dawson to himself, and when the enemies were within six feet of each other; “there isn’t room for both of us; you knew that before you started; one of us has got to give way and I’ll be hanged if I do!”
Inasmuch as the red man did not understand a word of English, it is not to be supposed that he grasped the whole meaning of this command, but the situation must have made it evident that he had been ordered to back his horse and to open a way for the white men, and inasmuch as he had come upon the trail for the express purpose of bringing about this encounter, it seems hardly necessary to say that he failed to obey the order. Instead, he repeated some words in his own language, which it is not unlikely were of the same import as those addressed to him, for he resolutely maintained his place.
“I tell you,” added Vose, raising his voice, as if that could help make his meaning clear; “if you don’t do as I say, somebody is going to get hurt!”
The warrior, who was carrying a rifle, stooped and gently let it fall beside him. At the same moment he let go of the thong which served as a bridle. Thus both hands were free and he crouched down with his hideous face thrust forward and took a slow, half-step toward Adams.
The coarse black hair dangling loosely about his shoulders, the broad frightful countenance, which, however, was devoid of paint, the glittering, basilisk-like eyes, the sinewy half-bent finger, with the right fingers closed like a vise around the handle of the knife at his waist, while gently drawing it forth, the catlike advance,–all these made him so terrible an enemy that the bravest man might well doubt the result of a meeting with him.
And yet the closest scrutiny of Vose Adams would not have discovered any tremor in his frame, or so much as a blanching of his face. He fully comprehended the nature of the peril that impended, but with the cool readiness of a veteran, he had fixed upon his line of action, in the same moment that he read the purpose of his formidable enemy.
The preliminary actions of the guide were similar to that of the warrior. The bridle rein dropped from his hand, and, slightly stooping, he let his Winchester fall to the ground beside him. Then his knife flashed out and he was ready.
Since only the mule was between Captain Dawson and the combatants, he observed all this and interpreted its meaning.
“Vose, what do you mean to do?” he sharply asked.
“Have a little dispute with the fellow,” replied Adams, without removing his gaze from the face of the savage.
“You mustn’t do it.”
“It sorter looks as if it can’t be helped, captain.”
“I shall prevent it.”
“How?”
“Thus!”
The captain had laid down his rifle and drawn his revolver, in the use of which he was an expert. While thus engaged, he stooped down, so that the interposing body of the mule, prevented the Indian from observing what he was doing. When his weapon was ready and just as he uttered his last word, he straightened up like a flash. Adams being of short stature and in a stooping posture, gave him just the chance he needed. His single arm was extended with the quickness of lightning and he fired. The bullet bored its way through the bronzed skull of the Indian, who, with an ear-splitting screech, flung his arms aloft, leaped several feet from the ground, toppled sideways over the edge of the trail and went tumbling, rolling and doubling down the precipice far beyond sight, into the almost fathomless abyss below.
“That’s what I call a low down trick!” was the disgusted exclamation of Adams, looking round with a reproachful expression.
“Do you refer to the Indian?” asked the captain.
“No; to you; I had just got ready for him and had everything fixed when you interfered.”
“Vose, you are a fool,” was the comment of his friend.
“And why?”
“That fellow was twice as big as you and you hadn’t an earthly chance in a fight with him.”
“Do you ’spose that is the first time I ever met a mountain Injin?”
“You never fought one of that size in this spot.”
“What difference does the spot make?”
“I want you to understand,” said the captain with assumed gravity, “that I didn’t interfere out of any regard for you.”
“What the mischief are you driving at?” demanded the puzzled guide.
“Under ordinary circumstances, I would have stood by and watched the flurry, only wishing that the best man might win. That means, of course, that you would have been the loser. But we need some one to guide us through the mountains; you haven’t done it yet; when your work is over you may go and live on wild Indians for all I care.”
Vose quickly regained his good nature. He returned his knife to its resting place, picked up his rifle, grasped the bridle rein and gently pulled.
“Come, Hercules; I don’t know whether they appreciate us or not; steady now!”
“What are you going to do with that horse in front of you?” asked the captain.
“Hang it! if I didn’t forget about him; back with you!” he commanded with a gesture, moving toward the animal, who showed the intelligence of his kind, by retrograding carefully until he reached the broad safe place so anxiously sought by the others. There he wheeled and trotted off, speedily disappearing from sight.
“Vose, you might have traded Hercules for him.”
“Not much! I wouldn’t give that mule for a drove of horses that have belonged to these mountain Injins.”
“What’s the matter with them? Aren’t they as good as ours?”
“They’re too good; you can’t tell what trick they’ll sarve you; I was once riding through these very mountains, on the back of a horse that I picked up–it isn’t necessary to say how–when his owner gave a signal and the critter was off like a thunderbolt. If I hadn’t slipped from his back at the risk of breaking my neck, he would have carried me right into a camp of hostiles and you would have been without your invaluable guide on this trip.”
“That is important information–if true–helloa! it is growing light off there in the east!”
“Yes,–day is breaking,” added Vose.
The captain looked at his watch and found the time considerably past five o’clock. They had been longer on the road than any one supposed, and the coming of morning was a vast relief to all.
The party were now grouped together, for the trail was broad and safe. Parson Brush asked, as he pointed almost directly ahead:
“Isn’t that a light off yonder?”
The guide gazed in that direction and replied:
“Yes, but it comes from a camp fire, which isn’t more than a half mile away.”
The men looked in one another’s faces and the captain asked in a guarded voice, as if afraid of being overheard:
“Whose fire is it?”
“There’s no saying with any sartinty, till we get closer, but I shouldn’t be ’sprised if it belong to the folks you’re looking for.”
The same thought had come to each. There was a compression of lips, a flashing of eyes and an expression of resolution that boded ill for him who was the cause of it all.
In the early morning at this elevation, the air was raw and chilling. The wind which blew fitfully brought an icy touch from the peaks of the snow-clad Sierras. The party had ridden nearly all night, with only comparatively slight pauses, so that the men would have welcomed a good long rest but for the startling discovery just made.
Over the eastern cliffs the sky was rapidly assuming a rosy tinge. Day was breaking and soon the wild region would be flooded with sunshine. Already the gigantic masses of stone and rock were assuming grotesque form in the receding gloom. The dismal night was at an end.
The twinkling light which had caught the eye of Felix Brush appeared to be directly ahead and near the trail which they were traveling. This fact strengthened the belief that the fire had been kindled by the fugitives. The illumination paled as the sun climbed the sky, until it was absorbed by the overwhelming radiance that was everywhere.
The pursuers felt well rewarded for the energy they had displayed in the face of discouragement and danger. Valuable ground had been gained, and even now when they had supposed they were fully a dozen miles behind the fugitives, it looked as if they had really caught up to them, or at least were within hailing distance.
Every eye was fixed on the point which held so intense an interest for them. As the day grew, a thin, wavy column of smoke was observed ascending from the camp fire, which was partly hidden among a growth of scrub cedars, some distance to the right of the trail, whither it must have been difficult for the couple to force their horses.
“That leftenant ought to have knowed better than to do that,” remarked Vose Adams, “his fire can be seen a long way off.”
“What else could they do?” asked the captain.
“The rocks give all the cover he needs.”
“But they could have no idea that we were so near,” suggested the parson.
“It isn’t that, but the leftenant had ’nough ’sperience with Injins on his way through here before to know he’s liable to run agin them at any time. I never dared to do a thing like that on my trips.”
“Let’s push on,” said the captain, who saw no reason for tarrying now that they had located the game.
The ground was so much more favorable that the animals were forced to a canter, though all were in need of rest. Little was said, and Captain Dawson spurred forward beside Adams, who as usual was leading.
Wade Ruggles and Parson Brush also rode abreast. They were far enough to the rear to exchange a few words without being overheard.
“From the way things look,” said Brush; “we shall have to leave everything with the captain and he isn’t likely to give us anything to do.”
“He’s mad clean through; I don’t b’leve he’ll wait to say a word, but the minute he can draw bead on the leftenant, he’ll let fly.”
“He is a fine marksman, but he may be in such a hurry that he’ll miss.”
“No fear of that; I wonder,” added Ruggles, startled by a new thought, “whether Vose has any idee of stickin’ in his oar.”
“Likely enough.”
“I must git a chance to warn him that we won’t stand any nonsense like that! The best that we’ll do is to promise him a chance for a crack after you and me miss.”
“That won’t be any chance at all,” grimly remarked the parson.
“Wal, it’s all he’ll have and he mustn’t forgit it. There’s some things I won’t stand and that’s one of ’em.”
“We can’t do anything now, but we may have a chance to notify him. If the opportunity comes to me, he shall not remain ignorant.”
They were now nearly opposite the camp and the two noticed with surprise that Adams and the captain were riding past it.
“What’s that fur?” asked the puzzled Ruggles.
“That’s to prevent them from fleeing toward Sacramento. When they find we are on the other side, they will have to turn back.”
This was apparently the purpose of the men in advance, for they did not draw rein until a hundred yards beyond the camp. Suddenly the two halted, and half-facing around, waited until Brush and Ruggles joined them. The explanation of the guide showed that his plan had been rightly interpreted by Parson Brush.
CHAPTER XX
THE CAMP FIRE
The trail, as has been stated, was broad and comparatively level. The slope of the mountain to the right was so moderate that it could be climbed by a horse almost as readily as by a man. Its face was covered with a growth of cedars, continuing half way to the summit, when it terminated, only bleak masses of rock, sprinkled with snow, whose volume increased with the elevation, being visible above and beyond.
When the four pursuers came together, their faces showed that they comprehended the serious business before them. It was seen that Captain Dawson was slightly pale, but those who had been with him in battle had observed the same peculiarity. Accompanied, as it was in this instance, by a peculiar steely glitter of his eyes, it meant that he was in a dangerous mood and the man who crossed his path did so at his peril.
It was evident that he and Vose Adams had reached an understanding during the few minutes that they were riding in advance. The words of Vose Adams were spoken for the benefit of Ruggles and the parson.
“You’ll wait here till I take a look at things.”
“What do you mean to do?” asked Brush.
“I’m going up the slope on foot to find out how the land lays.”
“And when you find that out, what next?”
“He is to come back and report to me,” interposed the captain.
There was a world of meaning in these words. It showed that the captain allowed Adams to lead only when acting as a guide. In all other matters, the retired officer assumed control. The opportunity of Vose to pick off the offending lieutenant promised to be better than that of any one else, since he would first see him, but he had been given to understand that he must immediately return and let the captain know the situation. Adams had promised this and he knew Dawson too well to dare to thwart him.
Brush and Ruggles could make no objection, keen though their disappointment was. They watched Adams, as he slipped off his mule, not deeming it worth while to utter the warning both had had in mind. It was the parson who said:
“I suppose we have nothing to do except to wait here till you come back?”
“It looks that way, but you must ask the captain.”
“You won’t be gone long?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Be careful, but there’s no need of waiting,” said the captain.
The three watched the guide until he disappeared from sight among the cedars, when the captain added:
“Vose told me that it was possible that camp fire had been started by Indians, but it seems to me there is little likelihood of that.”
“Why?”
“Those people are so skilled in woodcraft that they would have been on the alert against our approach, for a brief survey of the trail for the last half hour would have revealed us to them.”
“It may be,” suggested the parson, “that with every reason to believe there is no danger of anything of the kind, for it must be rare that a white man passes along this trail, they did not keep a lookout.”
The captain shook his head.
“From what I know of the American race, it is unlike them.”
“What knowledge have we that they have not maintained such a lookout and discovered us as soon as we noticed the camp fire itself? They may have formed an ambuscade at some point further along the trail.”
“It is a disturbing possibility and I would be alarmed, but for my confidence in Vose. He has been through this region so often and knows these wild people so thoroughly that he could not commit a blunder like that. It seems to me,” added the captain a few minutes, later, “that he is absent a long time.”
“It’s tough,” remarked Ruggles, “that things are fixed so we won’t have a chance to take any hand in this bus’ness.”
The captain looked inquiringly at him and he explained:
“You and Vose have set it up atween you.”
“I have told you that if your help is needed, it will be welcome; I can add nothing to that.”
“The captain is right,” interposed the parson, “but at the same time, he can see what a disappointment it is for us.”
“I admit that, but we are not out of the woods yet.”
Before he could make clear the meaning of this remark, Vose Adams emerged from the cedars, and the three breathlessly awaited his coming. He broke into a trot and quickly descended the slope to where they stood. The expression of his face showed before he spoke that he brought unwelcome news.
“Confound it!” he exclaimed with a shake of his head, “they’re not there!”
“Then they have gone on up the trail,” said the captain inquiringly.
“No; they haven’t been there; it isn’t their camp.”
“Whose is it?”
“Injins; there are five of ’em; they’ve just had their breakfast and are gettin’ ready to make a start.”
“Didn’t they see you?”
“That isn’t the way I do bus’ness,” replied Vose rather loftily; “it’s more’n likely, howsumever, they seen us all awhile ago when we was further down the trail. They’re traveling eastward.”
“How can you know that?” asked the parson.
“The Injin that took his dive off the trail ’bout the time the captain fired off his revolver, was going that way. He b’longed to the party and was sorter leading ’em; he was a chief or something of the kind.”
“Where are their ponies?”
“They haven’t any,–leastways he was the only one that had, which is why I said he was some kind of a chief. We shall hear from ’em agin.”
“Why?”
“I mean after they find out about that little row.”
“Why need they find out about it?”
“They can’t help it; they’ll miss their chief; they’ll run across that horse of his and that’ll give ’em the clue.”
This unexpected discovery put a new face on matters. Five mountain Indians, the bravest and most implacable of their race, were almost within stone’s throw of the party. But for the occurrence of a brief while before, they probably would have permitted the white men to continue their journey unmolested, since the strength of the two bands, all things considered, was about equal, but when the hostiles learned of the death of their leader, they would bend every effort toward securing revenge. They would dog the miners, watchful, alert and tireless in their attempts to cut them off from the possibility of ever repeating the deed.
“But that chief, as you seem to think he was,” said Captain Dawson, “is gone as utterly as if the ground had opened and swallowed him. They will never have the chance to officiate at his funeral, so how are they to learn of the manner of his taking off?”
“It won’t take ’em long,” replied Adams; “his pony will hunt them out, now that he is left to himself; that’ll tell ’em that something is up and they’ll start an investigatin’ committee. The footprints of our horses, the marks on the rocks, which you and me wouldn’t notice, the fact that we met the chief on that narrer ledge and that he’s turned up missing will soon lay bare the whole story, and as I remarked aforesaid, we shall hear from ’em agin.”
“It looks like a case of the hunter hunting the tiger,” said the parson, “and then awaking to the fact that the tiger is engaged in hunting him; it is plain to see that there’s going to be a complication of matters, but I don’t feel that it need make any difference to us.”
“It won’t!” replied the captain decisively; “we haven’t put our hands to the plough with any intention of looking back. What’s the next thing to do, Vose?”
“We’ve got to look after our animals.”
“But there’s no grass here for them.”
“A little further and we’ll strike a stream of water where we’ll find some grass, though not much, but it’s better than nothing.”
Vaulting into the saddle, the guide after some pounding of his heels against the iron ribs of Hercules, forced him into a gallop, which the others imitated. The trail continued comparatively smooth, and, being slightly descending, the animals were not crowded as hard as it would seem. A mile of this brought them to the water, where they were turned loose. The stream gushed from the mountain side, and, flowing across the trail, was lost among the rocks to the left. The moisture thus diffused produced a moderate growth of tough, coarse grass, which the animals began plucking as soon as the bits were removed from their mouths. They secured little nutriment, but as the guide remarked, it was an improvement upon nothing. The men bathed their faces in the cold, clear water, took a refreshing draught, and then ate the lunch provided for them by the thoughtful Adams. Though they ate heartily, sufficient was kept to answer for another meal or two, if it should be thought wise to put themselves on an allowance.
They had just lighted their pipes, when Wade Ruggles uttered an exclamation. Without explaining the cause, he bounded to his feet and ran several rods to the westward, where he was seen to stoop and pick something from the ground. He examined it closely and then, as he turned about and came back more slowly it was perceived that he held a white handkerchief in his hand. His action caused the others to rise to his feet.
“What have you there?” asked Captain Dawson, suspecting its identity.
“I guess you have seen it before,” replied Wade, handing the piece of fine, bordered linen to him. He turned it over with strange emotions, for he was quick to recognize it.
“Yes,” he said, compressing his lips; “it is hers; she dropped it there–how long ago, Vose?”
The latter examined the handkerchief, as if looking for the answer to the question in its folds, but shook his head.
“Even a mountain Injin could not tell that.”
The parson asked the privilege of examining the article. His heart was beating fast, though no one else was aware of it, for it was a present which he had made to Nellie Dawson on the preceding Christmas, having been brought by Vose Adams, with other articles, on his trip made several months before the presentation. There was the girl’s name, written by himself in indelible ink, and in his neat, round hand. It was a bitter reflection that it had been in her possession, when she was in the company of the one whom she esteemed above all others.
“It may have been,” reflected the parson, carefully keeping his thoughts to himself, “that, when she remembered from whom it came, she flung it aside to please him. Captain,” he added, “since this was once mine, I presume you have no objection to my keeping it.”
“You are welcome to it; I don’t care for it,” replied the parent.
“Thank you,” and the parson carefully put it away to keep company with the letter of Nellie Dawson which broke her father’s heart; “I observe that it is quite dry, which makes me believe it has not been exposed to the dew, and therefore could not have lain long on the ground.”
“You can’t tell anything by that,” commented Vose; “the air is so dry up here, even with the snow and water around us, that there’s no dew to amount to anything.”
All seemed to prefer not to discuss the little incident that had produced so sombre an effect upon the party. Wade Ruggles was disposed to claim the handkerchief, inasmuch as it was he who found it, but he respected the feelings of the parson too much to make any protest.