"Tito," he called.
Tito came to him, and they walked together a little apart from the rest.
"Look here, Tito," began Stephens, "I've got a job for you. I know you are a friend of Felipe's. I want you to go and look for him. Take my little mule and put your saddle on him. Go over to the Rio Grande and look along near the river about a league below La Boca. If you find him dead, get a man from there to help you with the body. If he's only wounded, have him taken care of, or bring him back if you can. Tell him he need not be afraid now. Here's two dollars for expenses. Mind you get some corn for the mule at La Boca. Off with you as soon as you can."
Tito did not need telling twice. "I'll do just what you say, Don Estevan," he said, as he stowed the money in a little pouch on his belt, and away he flew like the wind.
The American returned to his own house. He found Tostado awaiting him at the door. The other chiefs had disappeared. Salvador's wife had come with food which she had prepared for her husband.
"It was time for breakfast, Don Estevan," explained Tostado, "and they have gone home. The woman has brought Salvador's here."
"He could have eaten with me for all that," said Stephens, "but we hadn't decided about who was to go to Santa Fe with me. Will you?"
"Well, I have no horse here, Don Estevan," said the old man. "After breakfast we will see about it."
"Very well," said Stephens in a grumbling tone. "I suppose we must wait their pleasure. It isn't much running off to breakfast there'd be if it was anything they wanted to do."
However, there was nothing to do but wait, and Stephens had plenty of time to do his own cooking in the interval. It was nearly an hour before the chiefs were reassembled--having, indeed, to be sent for by Stephens individually; but by persistence he got them together at last and proceeded to business.
"Now, friends," he began, "who is going with me to Santa Fe? Don't all speak at once," he added in English for his own benefit, smiling grimly as he saw the blank look on their faces as he renewed his unwelcome proposal.
"Will you go, Benito?" he said, determined to press them one by one.
The Indian instead of replying conversed rapidly with the others. They had hoped that the transfer of Josefa to Stephens might have modified the American's absurd passion for what he considered to be justice.
"Look here, Don Estevan," began Benito, "it is better to wait.
To-morrow, when Tito gets back, then----"
"Oh, nonsense!" broke in Stephens impatiently, "Tito mayn't be back for a week, and it makes no odds about him anyhow."
"But," interrupted Ramon, another of the chiefs, "we have got no horses here. You have your own mare, and the mule for Salvador, but we have none. When Tito comes back with your other mule----"
"Oh, Tito be bothered!" said the American. "I tell you we don't want him."
Suddenly there was a shout outside. A Mexican rider came tearing up the village, and reined his reeking horse on to his haunches at Stephens's door. Flakes of bloody foam flew from the bit, and the horseman's rowels were red. He sprang into the room, covered with sweat and dust from the road.
"The Senorita Sanchez!" he exclaimed breathlessly, "the Senorita Sanchez has been carried off by the Navajos in the night." All present leapt to their feet.
"What!" cried Stephens, "Manuelita?" He stood aghast.
"Yes," repeated the Mexican; "the Senorita Manuelita Sanchez is in the hands of those villains."
"Of that Mahletonkwa!" the American exclaimed, seizing his rifle; "but how? and where are they?"
"_Quien sabe?_" said the Mexican, "_esperate, Don Estevan_; wait a moment, senor, till I tell you," for Stephens had caught up his saddle and was making for the door. "All we know is that she is gone; the tracks of the Navajos are all round the house and on the roof, and it is guessed that they entered so, in the night, while everybody was asleep, and carried her off."
"What idiots!" exclaimed Stephens. "Why didn't they keep a watch?"
"Who could have dreamed of such an attempt?" replied the Mexican. "The doors were fastened safe. No one thought of their getting over the roof.
But it is proved that they must have done so; their moccasin tracks are there on the roof to show it. And they have fled with her to the westward; the tracks of their horses go all up the valley of the Agua Negra. They have got a long start. But Don Nepomuceno and Don Andres have raised a party; they have got all the men they could in San Remo and gone on their trail: they are hoping to overtake them."
"Can I catch up with them?" asked Stephens hoarsely. "By George! but I wish I had stayed down there last night; but how could I or anyone have imagined such a thing as this? Poor, poor girl!"
He forgot the cacique, his prisoner for having shot down Felipe; he forgot Josefa, lying there next door dependent on his protection; for the moment all these things vanished from his mind before this dreadful catastrophe.
"Yes," answered the Mexican, "you will be able to catch them--they have but an hour's start of you; you will, that is, if you can follow their trail, for you have a good mare. But what they want you to do--what I came here to say, what Don Nepomuceno begged me to urge on you--is to bring with you some of these Indians of the pueblo to assist him in following the trail of the Navajos. Our friends here of Santiago did good service as trailers for Coronel Christophero Carson during the war against the Navajos; Don Nepomuceno is sure they will follow you, too, against the Navajos if you will ask them."
Stephens paused and pondered a moment. His first impulse had been to mount at once and gallop straight in pursuit. But there was wisdom in Don Nepomuceno's counsel; most assuredly the Indians would be invaluable if they came, and clearly there was nothing else he could do that would be half so useful as to bring them. And with reflection came back the image of the helpless Josefa, and he instantly realised that if he could take the cacique along with him her position would become ever so much safer; for he could not be blind to the fact that as soon as he was gone she might yet be in danger supposing that the cacique remained behind.
Yes, in every way it would be better to enlist the cacique for the pursuit; he decided to try and do so on the spot.
"This is a shocking thing that the Navajos have done," he said to the Indians around him, "and they will have to smart for it. You have all heard the suggestion made by this gentleman," he looked at the Mexican as he spoke, "and I entirely agree with it. Cacique, will you and a party of your warriors come with me on the war-trail against these scoundrels? You will do a public service if you can succeed in recovering the senorita from them; and in that case, whatever you may have done to Felipe, the rescue of the captive would count for much in your favour. In short, Cacique, if you will render good service in recovering her, I will appeal to the governor to pardon you. There is my offer."
The Indians talked it over rapidly among themselves. All joined in urging Salvador to seize the opportunity given him of escaping from the consequences of his rash act. Nor did he want much urging; he had fought the Navajos before, and was personally no ways loath to take the field against them again, and pride made him ardently desire to shine before his people in the character of a leader. In five minutes the matter was settled among them and his companions selected.
"Yes, Don Estevan," said he, "your offer is accepted. I will go with you on the trail of these Navajos, and I will take with me Miguel, who is our best tracker, and Alejandro, who is very good also. And it is agreed that you stand my friend in the matter of Felipe."
"Agreed," cried Stephens; "and now let us be off. You have weapons and ammunition."
"My horse is tired," said the cacique; "and how about horses for the young men?"
"My mule can carry one," said Stephens. "Could we have your horse, senor," he asked, turning to the Mexican, "and let you ride Mr. Backus's horse back to San Remo?--for I presume he isn't fit for another journey, either."
"Alas," said the Mexican politely, "I fear I cannot accommodate you in this. I have to ride now post-haste to Rio Grande and warn Don Nepomuceno's friends there of the trouble that has befallen him. They will doubtless send a party from there also on the trail. Were it not for that I would ride with you myself with pleasure."
"Look, now," interrupted the cacique, "at the plan which I propose. Let us go to the horse herd beyond the Cerro de las Viboras. My horse is tired indeed, but he can take me there; your mule is strong, Sooshiuamo,"--he took the first opportunity to call Stephens by his Indian name as a sign of renewed amity,--"let him carry our two young men also as far as the herd; when we get to the herd we will choose fresh horses for each of us, and we will take one of the herders along with us, young Ignacio, who is very clever at trailing, and knows the country; and besides, it is possible that the herders may have seen something of Mahletonkwa's band, and can give information. In any case we will start afresh from the horse herd and cut the trail of Mahletonkwa, and perhaps of Don Nepomuceno's party a good way off from here." Stephens looked up doubtfully at this suggestion. "Oh, never fear," continued the cacique boastingly, "we can leave a trail and find it again; I will show you what our men are like as trailers. There is no one equal to the Santiago men on a trail."
The cacique was known for a man of skill and resource in all these things of practical importance. He had indeed aroused the indignation of the prospector by his cruelty to Felipe and to his daughter, but in that after all he did but act according to his nature; Indians were cruel anyhow. The savage, even in the best of them, was close to the surface.
When it came to going on the war-path the value of the peculiar powers of the savage was manifest, and Stephens felt satisfied with his own action in turning them to a good purpose. The cacique's proposal was unquestionably sound, and he accepted it without hesitation.
"Tell me," he said, "before you go," turning to the Mexican who had brought the news, and was standing there, quirt in hand, ready to start as soon as their plans were decided upon, "what more is there known about this matter?"
"_Pues, nada, senor_," answered the young man--"nothing--absolutely nothing. We know neither at what hour of the night they took her away, nor with what object they have done it, but it is doubtless to extort the money from her father, the money that they have been demanding for the Navajo killed by Don Andres."
"Does the postmaster know anything about it?" asked Stephens; "I thought he acted very ill yesterday with regard to the Indians. If he's had any hand in it, by George!----" he broke off with a sudden fury of suspicion.
"Nothing is known either about him, senor," replied the Mexican; "Mr.
Backus declares that he had no idea of their doing such a thing. They were at his store during the afternoon, but they went off again to a distance to camp before sunset. Doubtless they would conceal their scheme from him as from everybody else. And now, senor, with your permission I am for the road. I have near twenty leagues to ride to-day.
I report, then, to all my friends that you, with the Indian trailers of Santiago, are going to take the trail. Believe me, we relied on you confidently to assist." He grasped Stephens hand warmly, sprang to his saddle, and was presently galloping for the Rio Grande.
The Indians ran to their houses for their guns and for the provision of dried meat and parched maize they would require for the journey, while Stephens brought his mare to the door and saddled her, tying a blanket for himself on behind, and filling his saddle-bags with as much victuals as he could stuff into them. Before starting he ran into Reyna's house to take one look at Josefa. She was lying on a rug spread on the ground.
In a few words he told her of his summons to pursue Mahletonkwa, and his acceptance of the cacique's services for the purpose. "But don't you be afraid," he continued; "you're all right now. He shall never lay his hand on you again. Reyna will look after you, and nurse you, and feed you. You just stick by her as if she was your mother. And if anyone tries to bother you while I'm gone, you just tell them to go to blazes.
You tell them that you belong to me now, and that if they go to try any nonsense on with you I'll know the reason why. They'll have me to reckon with. See? That's my talk, and don't you forget it." He gave her limp hand a reassuring pressure as she lay there, and turned away. Three minutes later he was riding north-westward from the pueblo in the company of Salvador, Miguel, and Alejandro.
CHAPTER XVII
MADAM WHAILAHAY