If the redskins come ever so, we can't run after 'em."

"I can stay till the day after to-morrow, if you think they're likely to come within that time. I daren't stay longer, for we're to join the ship at San Diego on the twenty-sixth."

"Wal; there's eleven of you, and that's a big help; we shan't say no,"

said the head trapper. "They might come to-night; might not come for another six months. You needn't fear for your men's rations; they won't starve."

When bed-time came, Wise posted five sentries, who were to be relieved after four hours' duty, and went to the hut set aside for him with his mind at ease. He was in his first sleep, when he became drowsily conscious that the report of a rifle was fitting itself into his dreams. Too tired after his long march to be much affected by it, he was sleeping peacefully on, when the familiar, hoa.r.s.e voice of the boatswain roused him effectually.

"Guard, turn out!--All hands on deck; come on, there."

Sailor-like, he was on his feet and into his boots in a couple of seconds, and was running out, sword in hand, before the cry could be repeated.

"Hy-yah; hy-yah!" someone was shouting; and the boatswain was answering grimly:

"Yes; _we'll_ 'hy-yah' ye. Git off'n them horses will ye?"

By the firelight Wise could make out three mounted Indians, a fourth on foot, and, near him, a dead horse that had, no doubt, fallen before the sentry's rifle. Around them stood his ten sailors, every man with his rifle covering one or other of the redskins; while the trappers, less accustomed to abrupt night-calls, appeared more slowly, rubbing their eyes and c.o.c.king their guns.

"Hy-yah! Hy-yah, Mason!" Again the high-pitched nasal voice.

The head trapper, who came stumbling out of his hut, shouted a few words in the Shoshonee dialect, and, immediately after:

"Don't fire, there; don't let 'em fire, Mr. Wise; they've copped the wrong men. These are friends; Comanches," and a great laugh from the trappers echoed over the camp.

"I challenged 'em first," said the sentry who had fired. "How was _I_ to know who they was?"

Mason, the chief trapper, spoke for a moment or two with the redskin who had hailed him; then signed to him and his companions to take their seats by the fire.

"Stop here, Lootenant, will you? They want to have a bit of a palaver with us."

As they dismounted, Wise could see that the Comanches were tall, well-made men, very different from the Creeks and Choctaws of the Atlantic coast. All had moccasins, and three of them wore sleeveless jackets of leather; while the fourth was habited in a magnificent "buffalo" robe. Each had either the tail of a polecat or a bunch of leather snippings in lieu of it, tied to either heel; the front half of their moccasins was painted blue, the other half red. But what struck the officer most forcibly was the remarkable thickness and length of the Indians' hair, which descended almost to their heels.

Alas for human vanity; three parts of those tresses were false; their own hair and somebody else's, together with a liberal supply of horses' tails, were all matted together with fat, and secured at the top by their feather head-dresses.

Mason approached the subject in curt, business-like fashion, rapidly translating to the rest all that the Indians said, and cutting very short the embroideries, formalities, and courtesy-t.i.tles contained in their address. It appeared that Comanche scouts had reported a march of the Apaches towards their own camp; they were several hundred strong, and were coming across country from the Rio del Norte direction.

"Last time we drove them away with great slaughter," continued the Comanche chief; "but they are more now, and many of them have guns; they are more confident too, for our scouts learn that they have inflicted a great defeat on white men."

"Ask him whereabouts," said Wise hurriedly.

"In Sonora, it is understood."

"Surely he doesn't expect us to join him?" muttered Wise.

"No; no sich thing. He's only come to say he's moving his camp from the Buonaventura, so that we mustn't rely on help from his tribe as heretofore, until they've met and whipped the Apaches. His tribe have always been the best o' friends with us. Say, it'll _be_ a battle; not a make-believe; but bear in mind what I said; keep out'n it."

"If these Apaches are coming from the del Norte, they'll probably not be the same as the ones we expect."

"Never no tellings; they're here to-day, and goodness knows where to-morrow."

"Then I'll stay as long as I said," answered the lieutenant; and he went back to finish his night's rest.

When he turned out in the morning the Comanches had long gone and the trappers were discussing plans, some advocating going about their work as usual, since the seamen were there to guard the camp; the rest insisting that both parties ought to lie hidden within the camp and give it the appearance of being entirely deserted. As the Apaches, being mounted, would have such an enormous advantage, whether in the open field or in eluding pursuit, Wise and Mason decided upon the latter course, and positions were being a.s.signed to the men, when, all in a moment, a dozen rifles blazed out from beyond the edge of the clearing; bullets rattled against the huts, and two of the trappers fell back wounded.

A roar of vengeance rose from all except the sailors, who, catching their officer's eye, at once sent an answering volley among the trees.

"They're on foot," screamed one trapper as he s.n.a.t.c.hed up his gun and ran like a madman across the clearing. "Come on, boys; there they go."

"Fall in," said Wise shortly; then turned to Mason. "This is a bad business for you chaps--but we must go to work in a proper fashion.

You can spot their trail better than we; go on, we'll follow you."

With the exception of the delirious person who had already gone in pursuit, the trappers collected in an orderly manner, each man swiftly examining his stock of ammunition and s.n.a.t.c.hing up whatever food lay to hand; and all were ready to start at a sign from Mason.

The noisy man was soon caught up with, bidden to hold his tongue and go back to attend to his two wounded comrades, and the chase began in good earnest. Every trapper had his special business to attend to, for the trail of each Indian had to be discovered, and, from the fact that all the twelve men were soon following a separate course, Wise gathered that the redskins had more or less dispersed in their flight.

He merely occupied himself with keeping his men together, and as nearly as possible in touch with all of the trappers. For half an hour they proceeded at an easy trot, and so came to a long, narrow pool.

Mason gave a single whistle and stopped, and everyone closed in on him.

"Strangers," he murmured. His mates knew what he meant. The redskins had halted here in doubt about the depth; the stillness of the water showed that it had not been disturbed recently, and the trail proved that they had turned both left and right. "Three of you cross; if you don't signal in two minutes we shall divide and follow both trails."

The men knew well enough that just here the pool was but five feet deep at the very most, and three of them ran through it. Mason took out his watch, and, just after the final second had expired, a whistle was heard ahead. The main trail had been found. With their guns held high above their heads, the Yankees slid down the bank and crossed the water, and the double began again.

"Without they've got horses waiting for 'em, this looks like a 'find,'" said Mason over his shoulder. "We shall come slap on to the prairie this way; and that's as level as a billiard-table for nigh on ten miles; and we've gained a rare big pull in crossing the pond."

It was as he had said; in about another half-hour the forest came to an abrupt end.

"There they go," shouted one excitable man; and this time a cheer rose from the sailors. The Indians, twelve of them, were scarcely a mile away, walking and running by turns, and to all appearances beginning to knock up, though they made a fresh spurt at sight of their pursuers.

The lieutenant now felt himself in a difficult position. These trappers had seen two of their friends shot down--perhaps killed--only an hour or so ago; and, though the average man of Anglo-Saxon blood (save him of cheap and nasty melodrama) is far too manly a fellow to be able to nourish revenge for an indefinite period, he may be a dangerous customer while the memory of a grievance is still fresh.

Wise badly wanted the fugitives' muskets; he wanted to arrest the owners of them; if need were, to hang them, in requital of their murderous attack; but he did not want to see them riddled with bullets and hacked with bowie-knives by men wild with pa.s.sion.

"I think you'd better leave this to us now," he whispered to Mason, who was a man open to reason. The old trapper shook his head, however.

"I wish I could," he said, "but it's no use trying. They've got a good many old scores against the varmints, and this one coming atop--Wal!"

"Then it's going to be a race," said the lieutenant, with decision; and he bade his men quicken their double, in the faint hope of their being able to outrun the trappers. But, as things turned out, the difficulty was removed from his hands. For some few minutes he had noticed a thick ma.s.s of moving figures across the plain some distance farther to the left than the point for which the Indians were making.

At first he had taken them for cattle; but, on closer inspection, he saw that they were mounted men. He pointed them out to Mason, who was now twenty yards behind.

"Yes; I see 'em," he shouted. "It's a battle; Comanches and Apaches, I count."

In the sailors' excitement they almost forgot the objects of their pursuit, though these were again showing unmistakable signs of breaking down.

"Now, lads; one good spurt and we'll be within range," said Wise.

"Never mind about what's going on over there."

But it was not in human nature not to watch what could be seen of the combat; Wise himself could not resist the temptation; one side was already taking flight, shooting at their pursuers as they went; and the two forces formed, with Wise's men, two converging lines which would very soon meet.

"The Apaches have had enough; they're making for the mountains, and this here other lot of reptiles'll get away on the first horses they can come near," shouted Mason from behind.

In a few minutes the first of the Indian forces was only half a mile away from the sailors' line of march. No doubt they had come to the hopeless stage in Indian warfare; the stage at which all arrows or bullets have been shot away and it is a question either of close fighting--for which they have neither strength nor stomach--or of flight. But, strangely enough, the Indians on foot made no attempt to join their brethren; instead, they wheeled more than ever to the right.