CHAPTER XXI
THE KIDNAPPING
Patience and her Mexican escort rode out of the town along the trail toTaos Valley, the road leading up the mountain and past her favoriteretreat. She could not resist the cool of the morning hours and thetemptation to pay one more visit to the little niche in the mountainside. The few farewell calls that she had to make could wait until theafternoon. They were duties rather than pleasures and the shorter shecould make them the better she would like it. She passed the mud housesof the soldiers and soon left the city behind. At intervals on thewretched road she met and smiled at the friendly muleteers and gavesmall coins to the toddling Mexican and Indian children before thewretched hovels scattered along the way. Well before noon she reachedthe little nook and unpacked the lunch she had brought along. Sharing itwith her humble escort, who stubbornly insisted on taking his portion toone side and eating by himself, she spread her own lunch under herfavorite tree and leisurely enjoyed it as she watched the mules passingbelow her along the trail. This last view of the distant town and themountain trail enchanted her and time slipped by with furtive speed. Fardown on the road, if it could be called such, bumped and slid a huge_carreta_ covered with a soiled canvas cover, its driver laboring withhis four-mule team. The four had all they could do to draw the massivecart along the rough trail and she smiled as she wondered how many mulesit would take to pull the heavy vehicle if it were well loaded. Shetried to picture it with the toiling caravan, and laughed aloud at theabsurdity.
While she idly watched the _carreta_ and the little _atejo_ passing itin the direction of the city, a flash far down the trail caught her eyeand she made out a group of mounted soldiers trotting after an officer,whose scabbard dully flashed as it jerked and bobbed about. The_carreta_ was more than half way up the slope, seeming every moment tobe threatened with destruction by the shaking it was receiving, when thesoldiers overtook and passed it. When the squad reached the shortsection of the trail immediately below her it met an _atejo_ of a dozenheavily-laden mules and the arrogant officer waved his sword and orderedthem off the trail. Mules are deliberate and take their own good time,and they also have a natural reluctance to forsake a known andcomparatively easy trail to climb over rocks under the towering packs.Their owners tried to lead them aside, although there was plenty of roomfor the troops to pass, but the little beasts were stubborn and stuck tothe trail.
Impatiently waiting for perhaps a full minute that his conceit might bepampered, the officer drew his sword again and peremptorily ordered thetrail cleared for his passing. The muleteers did their best, but it wasnot good enough for the puffed-up captain, and he spurred his horseagainst a faggot-burdened animal. The load swayed and then toppled,forcing the little burro to its knees and then over on its side, thetight girth gripping it as in a vise. The owner of the animal steppedquickly forward, a black scowl on his face. At his first word of protestthe officer struck him on the head with the flat of the blade and brokeinto a torrent of curses and threats. The muleteer staggered backagainst a huge bowlder and bowed his head, his arms hanging limply athis sides. The officer considered a moment, laughed contemptuously androde on, his rag-tag, wooden-faced squad following him closely.
As the soldiers passed from his sight around a bend in the trail themuleteer leaned forward, hand on the knife in his belt, and staredmalevolently at the rocks on the bend; and then hastened to help his twocompanions unpack the load of faggots and let the mule arise. The littleanimal did not get up. Both its front legs were broken by the rockycrevice into which they had been forced. The unfortunate Pueblo Indianknelt swiftly at the side of the little beast and passed his hands alongthe slender legs. He shook his head sorrowfully and stroked the burro'sflank. Suddenly leaping to his feet, knife in hand, he took two quicksteps along the trail, but yielded to his clinging and frightenedfriends and dejectedly walked back to the suffering animal. For a momenthe stood above it and then, changing his grip on the knife, leanedquickly over.
Patience had seen the whole tragedy and her eyes were brimming withtears. As the muleteer bent forward she turned away, sobbing. Thethroaty muttering of her guide brought him back to her mind and shecalled him to her.
"Sanchez!" she exclaimed, taking a purse from her bosom. "Take thismoney to him. It will buy him another burro."
The Mexican's teeth flashed like pearls and he nodded eagerly. In amoment he was clambering down the rocky mountain side and reached thetrail as the noisy _carreta_ lumbered past the waiting _atejo_. He neednot have hastened, for each mule had seized upon the stop as a valuablemoment for resting and was lying down under its load. Here was work forthe angry muleteers, for every animal must be unloaded, kicked to itsfeet and loaded anew.
Sanchez slid down the last rocky wall, flung up his arms and showed thetwo gold pieces, making a flamboyant speech as he alternately faced thewondering muleteer and turned to bow to the slender figure outlinedagainst the somber greens of the mountain nook. Handing over the money,he slapped the Indian's shoulder, whirled swiftly and clambered back theway he had come.
The Indian seemed dazed at his unexpected good fortune, staring at themoney in his hand. He glanced up toward the mountain niche, raised ahand to his forelock, and then pushed swiftly back from his eager,curious, crowding friends. They talked together at top speed and for themoment forgot all about the mules they had so laboriously re-packed; andwhen they looked behind them they found they had their work to do overagain. Again the fortunate muleteer looked up, his hand slowly risingto repeat his thanks; and became a statue in bronze. He saw the raggedtroops seize his benefactress and leap for the guide. Sanchez was nocoward and he knew what loyalty meant and demanded. He fought like awild beast until the crash of a pistol in the hands of the officer senthim staggering on bending legs, back, back, back. Reaching the edge ofthe niche he toppled backward, his quivering arms behind him to breakhis fall; and plunged and rolled down the rocky slope until stopped by astunted tree, where he hung like a bag of meal.
Patience's strength, multiplied by terror, availed her nothing and soon,bound, gagged and wrapped up in blankets, she was carried to the trailand placed in the _carreta_ which, its canvas cover again tightly drawn,quickly began its jolting way down the trail. As it and its escortpassed the _atejo_, now being re-packed, the officer scowled about himfor a sight of the impudent muleteer, but could not see him.
Salezar stopped his horse: "Where is that Pueblo dog?" he demanded.
"He is so frightened he is running all the way home," answered amuleteer. "He has left us to do his work for him! Are we slaves that wemust serve him? Wait till we see him, Senor Capitan! Just you wait!" Helooked at his companion, who nodded sourly. "Always he is like that,Senor Capitan."
Salezar questioned them closely about what they had seen, and found thatthey had been so busy with the accursed mules that they had had no timefor anything else.
"See that you speak the truth!" he threatened. "There is a gringo womanmissing from Santa Fe and we are seeking her. Her gringo friends areenemies of the Governor, and those who help them also are his enemies.Then you have not seen this woman?"
"The more gringos that are missing the louder we will sing. We have notseen her, Senor Capitan. We will take care that we do not see her."
"Did you hear any shooting, then?"
"If I did it would be that frightened Pablo, shooting at his shadow. Heis like that, Pablo is."
"Listen well!" warned Salezar, his beady eyes aglint. "There are twokinds of men who do not speak; the wise ones, and the ones who have notongues!" He made a significant gesture in front of his mouth, glareddown at the two muleteers and, wheeling, dashed down the trail toovertake the _carreta_, where he gloated aloud that his prisoner mighthear, and know where she was going, and why.
The two Pueblos listened until the hoofbeats sounded well down the trailand then scrambled up the mountain side like goats, reaching the littlenook as Pablo dragged the seriously wounded Mexican over the edge. Theyworked over him quickly, silently, listen
ing to his broken, infrequentmutterings and after bandaging him as best they could they put him on ablanket and carried him to the trail and along it until they reached anIndian hovel, where they left him in care of a squaw. Returning to the_atejo_ they had to repack every mule, but they worked feverishly andthe work was soon done and the little train plodded on down the trail.At the foot of the mountain Pablo said something to his companions, leftthe trail and soon was lost to their sight.
Meanwhile the _carreta_, after a journey which was a torture, mentallyand physically, to its helpless occupant, reached the town and rumbledup to Salezar's house, scraped through the narrow roadway between thehouse and the building next door and stopped in the windowless,high-walled courtyard. Three soldiers quickly carried a blanket-swathedburden into the house while the others loafed around the entrance to thedriveway to guard against spying eyes. In a few moments the captain cameout, briskly rubbing his hands, gave a curt order regarding alertnessand rode away in the direction of the _palacio_, already a colonel inhis stimulated imagination. This had been a great day in the fortunes ofCaptain Salezar and he was eager for his reward.
The sentry at the door of the _palacio_ saluted, told him that he waswaited for and urgently wanted, and then stood at attention. Salezarstroked his chin, chuckled, and swaggered through the portal. Tenminutes later he emerged, walking on air and impatient for the coming ofdarkness, when his task soon would be finished and his promotionassured.
And while the captain paced the floor of his quarters at the barracksand dreamed dreams, an honest, courageous, and loyal Mexican wasfighting against death in a little hovel on the mountain side; and aPueblo Indian, stimulated by a queer and jumbled mixture of rage,gratitude, revenge, and pity, was making his slow way, with infinitecaution, through the cover north of town. Sanchez in his babbling hadmentioned the caravan, a gringo name, and the urgent need for a warningto be carried. Salezar's name the Pueblo already knew far too well, andhated as he hated nothing else on earth. The mud-walled _pueblos_ of theValley of Taos were regarded by Salezar as rabbit-warrens full of women,provided by Providence that his hunting might be good.
CHAPTER XXII
"LOS TEJANOS!"
The encampment of the returning caravan was in a little pasture welloutside the town and it was the scene of bustling activity. Itspersonnel was different from either of the two trains from the Missourifrontier, for it was made up of traders and travelers from both of theearlier, west-bound caravans. Some of the first and second wagon trainshad gone on to El Paso and Chihuahua, a handful of venturesome travelerswere to try for the Pacific coast, and others of the first two trainshad elected to remain in the New Mexican capital. While in the twowest-bound caravans there had been many Mexicans, their number now wasnegligible. But this returning train was larger than either of the othertwo, carried much less freight, a large amount of specie, and woulddrive a large herd of mules across the prairies for sale in the Missourisettlements, which would fan the fires of Indian avarice all along thetrail.
Uncle Joe and his brother had been busy all day doing their own work,catching up odds and ends of their Santa Fe connections, and helpingfriends get ready for the long trip, and they had not given much thoughtto Patience, whom they believed to be saying her farewells to friendsshe had made in the city. As the afternoon passed and she and her escorthad not appeared, Uncle Joe became a little uneasy; and as the shadowsbegan to reach farther and farther from the wagons he mounted his horseand rode back to Santa Fe to find and join her. It was nearly dark whenhe galloped back to the encampment and sought his brother, hoping thatPatience had made her way to the wagons while he had sought for her intown. He knew that she had not called on any of her friends and that shemust have stolen a last ride through the environs of the town. The twomen were frankly frightened and hurriedly made the rounds of the wagonsand then started for the city. It was dark by then and as they rode bythe last camp-fire of the encampment, four villainous Indians loomed upin the light of the little blaze and Uncle Joe recognized theminstantly. He drew up quickly.
"Have you seen Patience?" he cried, an agony of fear in his voice. "Wecan't find her anywhere!"
The Indians motioned for him to go on and they followed him and hisbrother. When a few score paces from the fire they stopped andconsulted, hungrily fingering the locks of their heavy rifles. Whilethey were sketching a plan a Pueblo Indian, following the trail to thecamp like a speeding shadow, came up to them and blurted out hisfragmentary tale in a mixture of Spanish and Indian.
"Salezar stole white woman on mountain. Put her in _carreta_ and wentback to Santa Fe. Tell these people, that her friends will know.Salezar, the son of a pig, stole her on the mountain." He burst into atorrent of words unintelligible and open and shut his hands as heraved.
Finally in reply to their hot, close questioning he told all he knew,his answers interspersed with stark curses for Salezar and pity andanxiety for the angel senorita. His words bore the undeniable stamp ofsincerity, fitted in with what the anxious group feared, and he wastriply bound by the gold pieces crowded into his hands. After anotherconference, not pointless now, a plan was hurriedly agreed upon and theseveral parts well studied. The Pueblo was given a commission and loaneda horse, and after repeating what he was to do, shot away into thedarkness. Uncle Joe and his brother grudgingly accepted their parts,after Tom had shown them they could help in no other way, and turnedback into the encampment, where their hot and eager efforts met withprompt help from their closest friends. Alonzo Webb and Enoch Birdsall,mounted, led four horses out of the west side of the camp and meltedinto the darkness; several hundred yards from the wagons they turned theled horses over to four maddened Indians and followed them through thenight, to enter Santa Fe from the south. Not far behind them a cavalcaderode along the same route, grim and silent. At the little corral wherethe _atejo_ had put up the Indians got the horses which Turley hadloaned them, shook hands with the two traders and listened as thecaravan's horses were led off toward the camp.
Armstrong answered the knocks on his door and admitted the Delaware,listened in amazement to the brief, tense statement of fact, stronglyendorsed Tom's plans, and eagerly accepted his own part. His callerslipped out, the door closed, and the sounds of walking horses fadedout down the street. A few moments later, Armstrong, rifle in hand,slipped out of the house and ran southward.
Captain Salezar, sitting at ease in his adobe house, poured himselfanother drink of _aguardiente_ and rolled another corn-husk cigarette.Lighting it from the candle he fell to pacing to and fro across thesmall room. As the raw, potent liquor stimulated his imagination hebegan to bow to imaginary persons, give orders to officers, and tointroduce himself as Colonel Salezar. From the barracks across thecorner of the square an occasional burst of laughter rang out, but thesewere becoming more infrequent and less loud. He heard the groundinggun-butt of the sentry outside his door as the soldier paused beforewheeling to retrace his steps over the beat.
The sentry paced along the narrow driveway and stopped at the outercorner of the house to cast an envious glance across at the barrackswhere he knew that his friends were engaged in a furtive game of_monte_, which had started before he had gone on duty not a quarter ofan hour before. He turned slowly to pace back again and then suddenlythrew up his arms as his world became black. His falling firelock wascaught as it left his hands, and soon lay at the side of its gagged andtrussed owner in the blackness along the base of a driveway wall. Twofigures slipped toward the courtyard to the rear of the house and one ofthem, taking the rifle of his companion, stopped at the corner of thewall at the driveway. The other slipped to the door, gently tried thelatch and opened it, one hand hidden beneath the folds of a dirtyblanket. The door swung silently open and shut and the intruder cast aswift glance around the room.
Captain Salezar grinned into the cracked mirror hanging on the wall,stiffened to attention, and saluted the image in the glass.
"Colonel Salezar's orders, sir," he declaimed and then, staring withunbelieving
eyes at the apparition pushing out onto the mirror, crossedhimself, whirled and drew his sword almost in one motion.
The Delaware cringed and pulled at a lock of hair straggling down pasthis eyes and held out a folded paper, swiftly placing a finger on hislips.
"_Por le Capitan despues le Gobernador_," he whispered. "_Pronto!_"
The captain's anger and suspicion at so unceremonious an entry slowlyfaded, but he did not lower the sword. The Delaware slid forward, abjectand fearful, his eyes riveted on the clumsy blade, the paper held out atarm's length. "_Por le Capitan_," he muttered. "_Pronto!_"
"You son of swine!" growled Salezar. "You scum! Is this the way youenter an officer's house? How did you pass the sentry? A score of lasheson both your backs will teach you manners and him his duty. Give me thatmessage and stand aside till I call the guard!"
"_Perdon, Capitan! Perdon, perdon!_" begged the Delaware. "_LeGobernador_--" his hands streaked out, one gripping the sword wrist ofthe captain, the other fastening inexorably on the greasy, swarthythroat well up under the chin. As the grips clamped down the Delaware'sknee rose and smashed into the Mexican's stomach. The sword clatteredagainst a wall and the two men fell and rolled and thrashed across thefloor.
"Where _is_ she?" grated the Indian as he writhed and rolled, nowunderneath and now uppermost. "Where _is_ she, you murdering dog?"
They smashed against the flimsy table and overturned it, candle, liquorand all. The candle flickered out and the struggle went on in thedarkness.
"Where _is_ she, Salezar? Yore in th' hands of a _Texan_, you taker ofears! Where _is_ she?"
Salezar was no weakling and although he had no more real courage than arat, like a rat he was cornered and fighting for his life; but CaptainSalezar had lived well and lazily, as his pampered body was now showingevidence. Try as he might he could not escape those steel-like fingersfor more than a moment. With desperate strength he broke their hold timeand again as he writhed and bridged and rolled, clawed and bit; but theyclamped back again as often. His shouts for help were choked gasps andthe strength he had put forth in the beginning of the struggle waswaning.
The table was now a wreck and they rolled in and over the debris.Salezar made use of his great spurs at every chance and his opponent'sclothing was ripped and torn to shreds wet with blood. His fingerssearched for his enemy's eyes and missed them, but left their marks onthe painted face. They rolled against one wall and then back to theother; they slammed again at the door and back into the wreckage of thetable.
"Where _is_ she?" panted the Delaware. "Tell me, Salezar, _where isshe_?"
The captain wriggled desperately and almost gained the top, and thoughthe sensed a weakened opposition. "Where she will remain!" he choked."Mistress of the _palacio_--until he tires--of her. You--cursed _Tejano_dog!" He drove a spur at his enemy's side, missed, and it becameentangled in the rags.
The Delaware, blind with fury, smashed his knee into the soft abdomenand snarled at the answering gasp of pain. "Remember th' prisoners? NearValencia--Ernest died in the--night. You cut off his ears--and threw hisbody in a--ditch!" He got the throat hold again in spite of nails andteeth, blows and spurs. "McAllister was shot because he--could not walk.You stole his clothes--cut off his ears and left--his body at th' sideof th'--road for the wolves!" He felt the spurs graze his leg and hethrew it across the body of the Mexican. "Golpin was shot--other side ofDead Man's Lake. You took--_his_ ears _too_!" He hauled and tugged andmanaged to roll his enemy onto his other leg. "On th' Dead Man'sJourney--Griffin's brains were knocked out with a--gun butt. _His_ earswere cut off, _too_!" Hooking his feet together he clamped his powerfulthighs in a viselike grip on his enemy. "Gates died in a wagon near--ElPaso, of starvation, sickness--an' fright. You got _his_--ears!"
"As--I'll get--_yours_!" hoarsely moaned Salezar, again missing with thespurs. "The senorita will be happy--in Armijo's arms. After that--thesoldiers--can have her!"
The Delaware loosened his leg grip, jerked them up toward the captain'sstomach as he hauled his victim down toward them, and clamped them tightagain over the soft stomach.
"Yore lies stick--in yore throat--Salezar!" he panted. "An' thosemurders cry--to heaven; but you'll only--hear th' echoes ringin' throughhell--for all eternity. _You_ called th' roll of th' livin'--on thatdamnable march; _I_'m--callin' th' roll of th' _dead_! Yore name comeslast! There's many a Texan would give his--chance of heaven to changeplaces--with me, _now_!" He raised his head in the darkness. "Oh,Ernest, old pardner; I'm payin' yore debt, _in full_!"
The spurs stabbed in vain, for the Delaware was now well above theirflaying range; the nails scoring his face were growing feeble. Heshifted the leg hold again and managed to imprison one of Salezar's armsin their grip. Lifting himself from the hips, he released the throathold and grabbed the Mexican's other arm, thrust it under him and fellback on it as his two hands, free now to work their worst, leaped backunder the swarthy chin. The relentless thumbs pressed up and in.
The Blackfoot on guard at the end of the driveway thought he heard thedoor open and close, but there was no doubt about the labored breathingwhich wheezed along the dark wall. Stumbling steps faltered and draggedand then the Delaware bumped into him and held to him for a moment.
"Git th' hosses, Hank!" came a mumbled command.
"Thar with Jim an' Zeb," whispered the hunter in surprise. "How'd ye getso wet? Is that blood?"
"Spurred me--I'll be all right--soon's I git breath. He--fought likea--fiend."
"Git his ears?" eagerly demanded the Blackfoot.
"Thar's been ears enough took--already. Come on; _she's_ in th'_palacio_--with _Armijo_!"
"Jest what we figgered, _damn him_!" growled the Blackfoot, leading theway.
In the stable at the rear of the courtyard a decrepit dog, white withage, had barked feebly when its breath permitted, while the fight hadraged in the house. The Blackfoot had considered stopping the wheezywarnings, but they did not have power enough to lure him from his watch.He had accepted the lesser of the two evils and remained on guard. Asthe two Indians crept from the courtyard the aged animal burst into aparoxysm of barking, which exhausted it. To those who knew the captain'sdog, its barking long since had lost all meaning, for, as the soldierssaid, it barked over nothing. They did not know that the animal dreamedday and night of the days of its youth and strength and now, in itsdotage, in imagination was living over again stirring incidents of huntsand fights long past. Gradually it recovered its strength from soundingits barked warnings in vain, and pantingly sniffed the air. Its actionsbecame frantic and the decrepit old dog struggled to its feet, swayingon its feeble legs, its grizzled muzzle pointing toward its master'shouse. The composite body odor it had known for so many years hadchanged, and ceased abruptly. Whining and whimpering, the dog searchedthe air currents, but in vain; the scent came no more. Then, sinkingback on its haunches, it raised its gray nose to the sky and poured outits grief in one long, quavering howl of surprising volume.
The sleeping square sprang to life, superstitious terror dominated thebarracks. Lights gleamed suddenly and the barracks door opened slowly,grudgingly as frightened soldiers hurriedly crossed themselves. Don Jesuand Robideau pushed hesitatingly to the portal and peered fearsomelyinto the night. They suddenly cried out, drew their ancient pistols, andfired at two vague figures slinking hurriedly along the side of thehouse opposite. From the darkness there came quick replies. Acoruscating poniard of spiteful flame stabbed into the night. Don Jesuwhirled on buckling legs and pitched sidewise to the street. A secondstab of sparky flame split the darkness and Robideau reeled back intothe arms of his panicky soldiers. As the heavy reports rolled throughthe town they seemed to be a signal, for on the southern outskirts ofSanta Fe gun after gun crashed in a rippling, spasmodic volley. A fewstragglers in the all but deserted streets raised a dreaded cry and fledto the nearest shelter. The cry was taken up and sent rioting throughthe city; doors were doubly barred and the soldiers in the barracks,safer behind the thick mud walls than the
y would be out in the dark openagainst such an enemy, slammed shut the ponderous door and franticallybuilt barricades of everything movable.
"_Los Tejanos!_" rolled the panicky cries. "_Los Tejanos! LosTejanos!_"
The wailing warning of the coming of a plague could not have held moreterror. Gone were the vaunted boastings and the sneers; gone was theswaggering bravado of the dashing _caballeros_, who had said what theywould do to any Texan force that dared to brave the wrath of thedefenders of San Francisco de la Santa Fe. Gone was all faith, never toosincere, in ancient _escopeta_ and rusty blunderbuss, now that theoccasion was close at hand to measure them against the devil weapons ofhardy Texan fighting men, of the breed that had stood off, bloody dayafter bloody day, four thousand Mexican regulars before a little adobechurch, now glorified for all the ages yet to come. To panicky mindscame magic words of evil portent; the Alamo and San Jacinto. To evilconsciences, bowed with guilt, came burning memories of that sick andstarved Texan band that had walked through winter days and shiveredthrough winter nights from Santa Fe to the capital, two thousand milesof suffering, and every step a torture. Texan ears had swung from apiece of rusty wire to feed the cruel conceit of a swarthy tyrant.
"_Los Tejanos! Los Tejanos! Los Tejanos!_"
At the _palacio_ a human brute recoiled before a barred door between himand a desperate captive, his honeyed cajolings turning to acid on hislying tongue. No longer did he hear the measured tread of the palaceguards, who secretly exulted as they fled and left him defenseless.
"_Los Tejanos! Los Tejanos! Los Tejanos!_"
He dashed through a door to grab his weapons and flee, and in throughthe open, undefended portal from the square leaped a blood-coveredDelaware, an epic of rags and rage, a man so maddened that all thoughtof weapons save Nature's, had gone from his burning brain. Behind himleaped a Blackfoot, dynamic and deadly as a panther, a Colt pistol inone eager, upraised hand, in the other the cold length of a keenskinning knife. Behind them from a wagon deserted in the square came thesharp crashes of Hawken and Colt, and a shouted battlecry: "Remember th'Alamo! Remember th' Alamo! Texans to th' fore!"
As the Delaware dashed past an open door he caught a flurry of movement,the flare of a pistol and his laughter pealed out in one mad shout as hestopped like a cat and leaped in through the opening. Another flash,another roar, and a burning welt across a shoulder spurred the bloodyNemesis to a greater speed. The wavering sword he knocked aside and neartwo hundred pounds of fighting, mountain sinew hurled itself behind adriving fist. The hurtling bulk of Armijo crashed against a wall anddropped like a bag of grain as the plunging Delaware whirled to pounceupon it. As he turned, a scream rang out somewhere behind him, throughthe door he had just entered, a scream vibrant with desperate hope, andhe bellowed a triumphant answer. Here was his mission; Armijo was a sideissue. The governor, helpless before him, was forgotten and the Delawarewhirled through the door bellowing one name over and over again."Patience! Patience! _Patience!_"
"_Los Tejanos! Los Tejanos!_" came from the public square.
"_Los Tejanos! Los Tejanos!_" quavered the despairing echo throughoutthe quaking town, while from the south there came the steady crash ofalien rifles, firing harmlessly into the air.
Before him a Blackfoot methodically battered at a door, taking a fewquick steps backward and a plunging dive forward. The Delaware shoutedagain and added the power of his driving weight. There came asplintering crash and the door went in. The Blackfoot whirled and dartedto the great portal leading to the square, bouncing on the balls of hisfeet like a cougar expecting danger at every point. The Delawarescrambled to his feet and gathered a whitefaced woman in his arms,crushing her to his bloody chest. He felt her go suddenly limp and,throwing her across a bare and bleeding shoulder, he drew a Coltrepeating pistol and sprang after his Indian ally, not feeling theweight of his precious burden.
Lurid, stabbing rapiers of fire still sprang from the wagon barricade,making death certain to any man who opened the barracks' door. Betweentheir heavy roars the woodwork of the wagon smacked sharply in time tobursts of fire from the barracks' few windows. The Delaware darted fromthe _palacio_ door and held close to the wall, hidden by the portico andthe darkness. As he reached the end of the column-supported roof theBlackfoot bulked out of the night on his horse, and leading four others.The lost-soul call of a loon sounded and changed the deadly wagon into avehicle of peace and quiet as its Arapahoe defenders slipped away fromit. The sudden creaking of saddle leather was followed by the rollingthunder of flying hoofs as the first three horses left the square. Amoment's pause and then two more horses galloped through the darknessafter the others, the Arapahoe rear guard sitting almost sidewise intheir saddles, their long, hot rifles pointing backward to send hottergreetings to whoever might follow.
They raced like gambling fools through the dark night, the Blackfootleading the way with the instinct of a homing bird. Mile after milestrung out behind them, pastures, gullies, knolls rolling past. Whilethey climbed and dipped and circled they gradually sensed a steadyrising of the ground. Suddenly the Blackfoot shouted for them to halt,and the laboring horses welcomed the moment's breathing space. The guidethrew himself on the ground and pressed his ear against it. In a momenthe was back in the saddle and gave the word to go on again. He had heardno sounds of pursuit and he chuckled as he leaned over close to theDelaware who rode at his flank.
"Nothin' stirrin' behind us, fur's I could make out," he said. "They canonly track us by sound in th' dark, at any speed, an' I'm gamblin' theywait fer daylight. Thar scared ter stick thar noses out o' doors _this_night. How's yore gal?"
Tom's rumbling reply could mean anything and they kept on through thenight without further words. The trail had been growing steadily rougherand steeper and the horses were permitted to fall into a swinging lope.Another hour passed and then Hank signalled for a stop. From his lipswhistled the crowded, hurried, repeated call of a whip-poor-will. Threetimes the insistent demand rang out, clear and piercing. At the count often an echoing whistle sounded and a light flickered on the trailahead.
"J'get her?" bawled a voice, tremulous with fear and anxiety, and only abreath ahead of another.
"Hell yes!" roared Hank. "Got Salezar, Don Jesu and Robideau, too; onlywe left _them_ behind--with thar ears!"
In another moment Uncle Joe and Adam Cooper took the precious burdenfrom the Delaware's numbed arms, someone uncovered the lighted candlelantern, and saddles were thrown on fresh mounts. The Pueblo pushedforward and peered into Patience's face, and his own face broke intosmiles. His torrent of mixed Spanish and Indian brought a grin to Hank'spainted countenance.
"This hyar shore is good beaver," he chuckled, clapping the Pueblo onthe shoulder, "but thar's more good news fer _you_." He put his mouthclose to the Pueblo's ear and whispered: "Yer friend Salezar will beleadin' a percession ter th' buryin' ground. That Delaware thar killedhim with his bare hands!"
The Pueblo touched Tom's arm, his hand passing down it caressingly, tobe seized in a grip which made him wince; and when Adam Cooper offeredhim a handful of gold coins the Indian drew himself up proudly andpushed them away.
"For his friends Pablo do what he can," he said in Spanish. "I now takethese horses back on the trail to make a puzzle in the sand that willtake time to read. Pablo does not forget. _Adios!_" He vaulted onto hishorse, took the lead ropes of the tired mounts, and was lost in thedarkness, eager to weave a pattern of hoof marks to mock pursuing eyes.
The little cavalcade pushed on, following a trail that wound along thesides of the mountains, passing many places where a handful of resolutemen could check scores. The cold mountain air bit shrewdly, andoccasional gusts of wind blustered along the timbered slopes and set thepines and cedars whispering. Higher and higher went the narrow trail,skirting sheer walls of rock on one side, and dizzy precipices on theother; higher and higher plodded the little caravan in single file,following the unhesitant leader.
There came a leaden glow high up on the right. It paled swif
tly as astreak of silver flared up behind the jagged crests of the mountains,here and there caught by a snow mantle to gleam in virgin white. On theleft lay abysmal darkness, like a lake of ink, and slowly out of itpushed ranks of treetops as the dawn rolled downward and the mountainfogs dissolved in dew. Deep canyons, sheer precipices; long streaks onmountain sides where resistless avalanches had scraped all greenery fromthe glistening rock; green amphitheaters, fit for fairy pageants;velvety knolls and jewels of mountain pastures lay below them, with hereand there the crystal gleam of ribbon-like mountain brooks, their watersembarked on a long, depressing journey through capricious oceans ofbillowy sands and the salty leagues of desert wastes. Birds flashedamong the branches, chipmunks chattered furiously at these unheedinginvaders of their mountain fastness; high up on a beetling crag abighorn ram was silhouetted in rigid majesty, and over all lazilydrifted an eagle against the paling western sky, symbolical of freedom.
There came the musical tinkle of falling water and Hank stopped, raisinghis hand. Into the little mountain dell the caravan wound and in amoment muscles tired and cramped from long, hard riding found relief ina score of little duties. While the animals were relieved of saddles andpacks and securely picketed, and a fire made of dry wood from a bleachedwindfall, Hank climbed swiftly up the mountain side for a view of theback trail. Perched on an out-thrust finger of rock high above the dellhe knelt motionless, searching with keen and critical eyes every yard ofthat windswept trail, following it along its sloping length until itshrunk into a hair line across the frowning mountain sides and thenfaded out entirely. Below him grotesque figures moved about like gnomesperforming incantations around a tiny blaze; dwarfed horses cropped theplentiful grass and succulent leaves, and a timid streamer of pale bluesmoke arose like a plumb line until the cruising gusts above thetreetops tore it into feathery wisps and carried it away. Across thevalley the rising sun pushed golden floods of light into crevices, amongthe rocks, and turned the pines and cedars into glistening cones ofgreen on stems of jet.
"Wall," said a voice below him, "hyar I am. Go down an' feed. Seeanythin'?"
Hank leaned over and looked down at the climbing figure, whose laboriousprogress sent a noisy stream of clicking pebbles behind him like sparksfrom a rocket.
"Nothin' I ain't plumb glad ter see," replied Hank. "This hyar beats th'settlements all ter hell." As Jim's horrible face peered over the edgeof the rock balcony Hank eyed it critically and shook his head. "I'veseen some plumb awful lookin' 'Rapahoes; but nothin' ter stack up ag'inyou. Vermillion mebby is yer favorite color, but it don't improve yerlooks a hull lot. Neither does that sorrel juice. How's th' gal?"
"Full o' spunk an' gittin' chipper as a squirrel," answered Jim. "Who'sgoin' ter git th' blame fer last night's fandango?"
"Four murderin' Injuns, a-plunderin' an' a-kidnappin'," chuckled Hank."Woodson's goin' ter raise hell about th' hull Cooper fambly bein'stole. Armijo'll keep his mouth shet an' pass th' crime along ter us,an' make a great show o' gittin' us; but," he winked knowingly at hisaccomplice in the night's activities, "chasin' four desperite Injunsalong an open trail, whar his sojers kin spread out an' take advantageo' thar bein' twenty ter one is _one_ thing; chasin' 'em along a traillike this, whar they has ter ride Injun fashion, is a hull lotdiff'rent. They've had thar bellies full o' chasin' along Injun trailsin th' mountings. Th' Apaches, Utes, an' Comanches has showed 'em itdon't pay. Thar's sharpshooters that can't be got at; thar's rollin'rocks, an' ambushes; an' chasin' murderin' Injuns afoot up mountingsides ain't did in this part o' th' country."
"Meanin' we won't be chased?" demanded Jim, incredulously.
"Not meanin' nothin' o' th' kind," growled Hank, spitting into threehundred feet of void. "We killed some of th' military aristo-crazy, asTom calls 'em, didn't we? We made fools outer th' whole prairie-dogtown, didn't we? An' what's worse, we stole th' gal that Armijo warsweet on, an' Tom knocked _him_ end over end--oh, Jim, ye should 'a'seen that! Six feet o' greaser gov'ner a-turnin' a cartwheel in his ownhouse! _Chase_ us? Hell, yes!"
The Arapahoe rubbed his chin. "Fust ye say one thing, then ye sayanother. What ye mean, Ol' Buffaler?"
"I'm bettin' thar's a greaser army a-poundin' along th' wagon road ferRaton Pass," replied Hank, spitting again with great gusto. "We're aDelaware from Bent's, a Blackfoot from th' Upper Missoury, an' two ugly'Rapahoes from 'tother side o' St. Vrains, ain't we? Wall, if ye know afox's den ye needn't foller him along th' ridges." He chuckled again."We're goin' another way over some Ute trails I knows of."
"But s'posin' they foller us along this trail?"
Hank looked speculatively back along the narrow pathway, with itsnumerous bends, and then glanced pityingly at his anxious friend. "Ijest told ye why they won't; an' if they do, _let_ 'em!"
Ogden looked steadily southward along the trail and suddenly laughed:"Yes; _let_ 'em!"
* * * * *
In the great courtyard of Bent's Fort one evening more than a weeklater, three trappers sat with their backs against the brass cannon thatscowled at the heavy doors. They were planning their winter's trip inthe mountains, figuring out the supplies and paraphernalia for a partyof four, when Hank, glancing up, saw two people slowly walking along thehigh, wide parapet on the side toward the Arkansas. He raised an arm,pointing, and his companions, following it with their eyes, saw the twofigures suddenly become like one against the moonlit sky.
Hank sighed, bit his lip, and looked down.
"Better figger on a party o' three," he said.
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