Kit Carson knowed all about Injins, but he couldn't make out what all this meant. We was in hope they'd git into a wrangle themselves, and swaller each other, and I can tell you they came mighty nigh it.

"Just as it begun to look as if it was goin' that way, one of their chiefs walked forward, swingin' a dirty rag on the end of his ramrod as a flag of truce. Kit looked at him very closely, and then exclaimed that it was Quizto, a great rival of Valo-Velasquiz. They were always at swords points, and whichever happened to have the strongest party at his back when they met, outranked the other. The beauty of it all was that Quizto was a friend all his life to Kit Carson--a regular redskin friend, who was ready to scalp all his brothers and sisters if they tried to harm him--and when he came to learn that Kit was treed, he swore that he'd burn at the stake any Injun that laid a straw in his way.

"This made a time, and, as I's tellin' you, the biggest kind of a fight.

At one time it only lacked a word to set it a-goin'; but Quizto's braves stood by him, every one, and the others had to knock under.

"When Quizto come forward with his flag of truce, he called out to Kit and told him that he was at liberty to go wherever he chose without harm; but as Valo-Velasquiz would be so disappointed, he thought Carson would turn over his friend, who wasn't of much account, that they might have the pleasure of torturing him to death. That was lovely for me, and you ought to have heard Kit laugh. He told Quizto that he couldn't do that--both would go or stay together. That made another wrangle, but the friendship of the chief to Carson saved the lives of us both. He wouldn't consent that the guide should run the least risk, and they told us to come down and clear out. We expected a big fight, for Valo-Velasquiz had some ugly men with him, and he was a regular devil himself; but when we got to the bottom, there was two mustangs awaitin', and we straddled 'em, and warn't long in leavin' those parts. Old Valo-Velasquiz and a dozen of his warriors tried to sneak along after us, but we was as well mounted as they, and we rode into Santa Fe without tradin' rifle shots with any of 'em. That was a strange thing, but," added the scout, significantly, "I don't think you've got any Quizto among them skunks down there."

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

HAND TO HAND.

The Apaches surrounding Hurricane Hill were more closely watched through the forenoon, for d.i.c.k more than once gave it as his opinion that they would make a rush before the day was over. To protect themselves as much as possible, the rock of which the hunter had spoken was forced into the pa.s.sage-way, and an unremitting guard maintained, to prevent any sudden surprise.

It was near noon, when three Apaches were seen to leap upon their mustangs, one going north, another south and the third due west.

"Spies," explained d.i.c.k. "Lone Wolf is a little anxious about what Tom may do, and he sends them out to watch. If they find out anythin'

they'll manage to telegraph him in time to get ready for anythin'

comin'."

"Can you see Lone Wolf among them?"

"Can't make sartin of it," returned the hunter. "He knows that if I can get a crack at him he'll go, and so he takes care not to let me have the chance. Can you see anythin' off toward the mountains in the west?"

"Nothing but that Apache horseman going away like an arrow."

"There's the p'int from which our friends will come, if they ever come at all. Keep your eye on it while I take a look below."

The scout moved down the declivity, until he reached the place where it had been barricaded, when he stationed himself behind the obstruction, quite certain that something stirring would soon take place. It was his belief that when the time came, the Apaches, at a preconcerted signal, would rush tumultuously up the steep in a determined effort to overwhelm them all. Such a movement, of course, from the very nature of things, would give timely notice of its coming. His astonishment, therefore, may be imagined when, after he had stood in his position for a few minutes, rather listlessly and looking for no immediate demonstration, he perceived a dark body suddenly pa.s.s over his head. Turning about, he saw an Indian warrior speeding like a deer up the path toward the top of Hurricane Hill, where Ned Chadmund stood, all unconscious of his coming.

The hunter, astonished as he was at the daring feat, was not thrown off his guard. He knew that the Apache was not seeking the life of the lad, but only to open the way for the rest of the warriors to follow over the barricade. They believed that in the excitement d.i.c.k would turn and dash after the redskin, leaving the way open for the whole horde to swarm to the top of the Hill. But the clear-headed d.i.c.k maintained his position, only uttering a shout of warning to Ned Chadmund, in the hope that he might be prepared and "wing" the redskin the instant he should appear in view. Then, having done this, he stood back behind the jutting rock and held his rifle ready.

Within ten seconds a second Apache scrambled over the barricade, and started at full speed up the pathway, but he had no more than fairly started, than he fell headlong to the ground, pierced through and through by the rifle fired almost in his face. Almost the same instant a second appeared, when he tumbled backward, driven thence by the revolver of the hunter, who was as cool as an iceberg. This stemmed the tide, the crowding warriors hurrying back before the lion that lay in their path.

All this was the work of a very few seconds, but it was scarcely effected, when a cry from the lad on top of the rock showed that he had discovered his danger. The next instant, white-faced and scared, he came dashing down the path, shouting to the hunter:

"Oh, d.i.c.k, save me! save me! there's an Indian after me!"

The savage, however, did not follow, and d.i.c.k, as the lad rushed into his arms, shook him rather roughly, and said:

"Keep still! Why do you make such a thunderin' noise?" The lad speedily controlled himself, and then the scout placed his revolver in his hand, and said: "Stand right here, and the minute a redskin shows himself, crack him over. Can you do it?"

"Haven't I proved it?"

"Yes; but you made such a racket here that I've lost faith in you."

"Try me and see."

Adding a few hasty words, the scout left him, and hurried to the top of the hill, without pausing to approach with his usual precaution.

His expectation was to encounter the redskin at once upon reaching it, but, to his surprise, he was nowhere to be seen, and he paused somewhat bewildered.

"I wonder whether he's got scart 'cause none of the rest followed him, and jumped overboard--"

At that instant something descended like a ponderous rock, and he realized that he was in the grip of the very redskin about whom he had been meditating. The miscreant had managed to crouch behind a rocky protuberance, and then made a sudden leap upon the shoulders of the hunter. As the Apache's scheme had miscarried thus far, and instead of being backed up by the other warriors, he was left alone to fight it out, he did not pause to attempt to make him prisoner, but went into the scrimmage with the purpose of ending it as briefly as possible. As he landed upon the shoulders of d.i.c.k the latter caught the gleam of his knife, and grasped his wrist just in time. Fearful that it would be wrenched from him, the Apache managed to give his confined hand a flirt, which threw it beyond the reach of both. By a tremendous effort d.i.c.k then succeeded in flinging him over his shoulder, although the agile redskin dropped upon his feet, and instantly flew at his antagonist like a tiger.

For several minutes the struggle raged with the greatest fury; but the Apache, in a contest of this kind, was overmatched. The hunter was much the superior, and he began crowding his foe toward the margin of the rock. Divining his purpose, he resisted with the fury of desperation; but it was useless, and the two moved along toward the brink like the slow, resistless tread of fate. Neither of them spoke a word, nor was a muscle relaxed. The scout knew that the instant the struggle was detected by those below, there would be a rush up the incline such as Ned Chadmund with his loaded and c.o.c.ked revolver could not withstand.

The fighting, therefore, was of the hurricane order from the beginning to the close.

There was one terrific burst of strength, and then, gathering the writhing savage in his arms, d.i.c.k Morris ran to the very edge of the plateau and hurled him over.

Down, down from dizzy heights he spun, until he struck the ground far below, a shapeless, insensible ma.s.s, falling almost at the feet of the horror-bound Apaches, who thus saw the dreadful death of one of their most intrepid and powerful warriors.

Without waiting to see the last of the redskin, the scout turned and hurried down to the relief of his young charge, and to be prepared for the rush which he was confident would be made the next minute. But it was not. The redskins had learned, from dear experience, the mettle of this formidable white man, and they had no wish to encounter it again.

The time wore away until the sun was at the meridian, and the heat became almost intolerable. Even the toughened old scout was compelled to shelter himself as best he could from its intolerable rays, by seeking the scant shadow of jutting points of the rock. Ned Chadmund suffered much, and the roiled and warm water in the old canteen was quaffed again, even though they were compelled to tip it more and more, until, toward the close of the day, d.i.c.k held it mouth downward, and showed that not a drop was left.

"No use of keeping it when we are thirsty," was the philosophic remark of the hunter. "It's made to drink, and we needn't stop so long as any is left; and bein' there ain't any left, I guess we'll stop. I've a mouthful or two of meat left, and we may as well surround that."

So they did; and when the sun sank down in the west, not a particle of food nor a drop of water remained to them.

"Now, Ned, my boy," said d.i.c.k, who always maintained a certain cheerfulness, no matter what the circ.u.mstances might be, "go to the lookout and tell me what you see."

The lad was absent some ten minutes, during which he carefully scanned every part of the horizon and took a peep down upon their besiegers.

"I find no sign of a living soul," he said, when he returned, "except the Apaches, and they're waiting until they can get us without fighting."

"Stay here while I take a peep."

Long and carefully d.i.c.k Morris gazed off to the west, in the direction of the mountains, and then something like a sigh escaped him, as he shook his head and muttered:

"It looks bad, it looks bad. If Tom succeeded, he ought to be in sight by this time. I see nothing of 'em, and from the way the redskins act down there, they seem to be sartin he's gone under. I don't mind for myself, for I'm ready to go any time; but I feel powerful sorry for the little fellow down there."

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

CONCLUSION.

Long and hard rode Tom Hardynge after his escape from the beleaguring Apaches, for he was determined to save Ned and d.i.c.k if the thing were within the range of human possibility. His mustang seemed to understand what was expected of him, and he required no urging from his master to maintain his arrowy flight. It was a literal race between life and death. If he could reach Fort Havens in time to procure succor, the man and the boy were saved. If not, then they were doomed.

At daylight he was among the mountains, and the steed paused a few seconds to swallow a little water from a tiny stream. An hour later he ascended an elevation, and from his back the rider took a survey of the plain stretched out before him.

Far away in the distance a dark, stationary object was discerned. A keen eye could detect something fluttering above it in the wind. That was the star-spangled banner, waving above Fort Havens. Yonder was the destination toward which the little party had been laboring for days and which there was no a.s.surance of still reaching. The scout had not yet pa.s.sed half the distance intervening between the fort and Hurricane Hill. Mercy to his beast compelled him to give him a brief rest and an opportunity to eat a little food. Then, away again.