"And the girl?" queried the American hoarsely. "Is she there too? Have any of you seen her?"
"Oh, she's sure to be there," said the cacique. "She can't fail to be there. No, we didn't any of us positively set eyes on her, but Miguel, who got into the best position to spy on them, was able to count their horses; the whole lot of them, all the eleven, are there in the 'abra,'--the opening or oasis in the Lava Beds,--so of course she must be there."
"True," answered Stephens somewhat doubtfully. "That is, I suppose, you argue that if the horses are there she must be so, too; because if they had taken her elsewhere they'd have had to take a horse to carry her.
But," he added, "as Miguel even didn't actually see her, might she not perhaps have escaped on foot?"
The Indian gave a smothered laugh of derision. "She escape?" he said; "escape from the Tinne! Never. No captive ever escapes. Too well watched."
Miguel himself, with Alejandro and young Ignacio, now came up and joined them, and Stephens closely examined them as to what they had seen. They confirmed unanimously the conclusions that the cacique had arrived at.
Manuelita was certainly there. Whether the Navajos were aware of their presence or not, was, however, uncertain. All they could say was that they had been most careful not to give the Tinne a chance by exposing themselves to view, and that therefore the probability was that they were still in ignorance. But they might have spotted the Pueblos in spite of all their care, and be simply lying low in order to entrap them.
"What's the best move now?" said Stephens.
"It will be better if we return back some way," said the cacique. "The Mexican party may come up to-day, and then we can join forces with them.
But if the Mexicans don't come, then, when night falls, we must go forward again on foot and creep up close to their camp and see if we get a chance to do anything. If they haven't seen us, maybe we might get a chance to steal her away from them."
"But if they have seen us?" said Stephens.
"Then," returned the cacique, "they are going to try to creep on us certainly, perhaps kill us, perhaps in the dark steal our horses; the Tinne men are wonderful clever horse-thieves."
Stephens meditated. By the Indian scouts' account it seemed to be about an even chance whether the Navajos had discovered them or not. But, according to his view of the matter, if they had, all idea of keeping concealed from them any longer was ridiculous; and their wide-awake enemies would be free to attack them if they chose, or else to decamp in the night, taking their prisoner with them, and very possibly taking their pursuers' horses as well. Here, to his mind, was a strong argument against waiting.
True, there was the other side of the question to be considered: supposing that the Navajos had not detected their presence, it was not impossible that his Pueblo friends, if their pluck was equal to their undeniable skill, might haply be successful in effecting the girl's release by some stratagem. But, after all, it was only a chance, and a slim chance at that, he thought; and, moreover, there was one point about this latter scheme which he found it hard to digest--he would himself assuredly be asked to stay behind again. He was perfectly well aware by this time that if they wanted to creep on the Navajo camp for the purpose of rescuing the girl by stealth, his Indian friends would not want to have him accompany them, on the ground that as a white man he was unable to move about with the silent, snake-like litheness of a redskin. And they would be right, from their point of view; so much he could not refuse to admit to himself in his secret heart; he could not but recognise his inferiority in this qualification, knowing as he did the red men's great gifts. But from his own point of view this would not do at all. The simple fact was that he did not trust their resolution unless he himself were actually with them to keep them up to the mark.
They had just made one reconnaissance by themselves, leaving him behind, and it struck him that they had not pushed it very vigorously. One of them, Miguel, had advanced far enough to be able to count the Navajo ponies. That really was all the information they had brought back.
Now suppose they were to start out again to-night, by themselves, after her; and suppose they failed to get her out of the Indian camp, while he had remained at the rear and never even made so much as one try at it personally himself; why, he would feel bitter humiliation all his life long in consequence, and the unhappy girl would be dragged away to suffer fresh miseries in a new hiding-place. That was what really galled him. That they would kill her he did not now think, because he was convinced that the cacique was right in saying that what they were after was Don Nepomuceno's money. But that she was safe from violence in their hands he was far less certain. Whailahay's supernatural influence might not prove to be the safeguard the cacique had represented it to be; and in that case her lot might be, nay, surely would be, that of the miserable victim of the Sioux. This waiting was becoming detestable. One solution presented itself with overwhelming urgency to his mind, a solution which imperiously closed these dull debates and tedious, hesitating delays. There was one phrase of General Grant's--Grant was an Ohio man like himself, and his ideal hero,--it occurred in a summons that Grant once sent to an enemy to surrender, and it ran, "I propose to move immediately upon your works." That was the right sort of talk. That was the sort of thing he would like to say to the Navajos, and, as they wouldn't surrender, then do as Grant would have done, "advance immediately." Yes, he would propose an immediate advance to his four Pueblo companions; if they rejected his proposal then he would take his own line.
"Look here, Cacique," he said firmly, "we've had enough of this creeping and crawling around. Let's wade right in. Come on. You stick by me, and we'll go right at them, and we'll lick spots out of 'em." His eyes flashed, and his powerful frame seemed to dilate and grow as the fire of battle kindled in him. The Pueblo chief smiled on him as one might on an impatient child.
"No sense in that talk," he said with calm superiority. "Don't you see?
they're eleven and we're five; as soon as you begin to shoot, they'll kill that girl quick, so that all of them may be free to fight us. Then I think they'll kill us, too. They're too many"; and he counted the whole eleven over on his fingers, and shook his head impressively and ominously.
"They'll not kill her," said Stephens, "she's worth too much to them.
And as for their killing us--well, two can play at that game." He patted the Winchester fondly as he spoke. "Come on, Cacique, and show yourself a man. Five brave men can lick a dozen cowards any day. Buck up, Cacique. Why, you told me that you yourself with only one pard killed seven Navajos by catching them off their guard. Suppose now that these chaps haven't seen us, why shouldn't we do as well?"
"Ah," said the other, "but these Navajos are well posted in their stronghold. My partner and I caught ours in a trap. But if we wait maybe we might get the chance to catch these ones in a trap, too."
The American argued the point a little longer, with no effect, however, for the cacique's prudent decision remained immovable. But Stephens had hardened his heart to the sticking-point, and he refused to wait. He would go forward alone. He drew a deep breath as he turned his eyes from the black Lava Beds around, and looked at the distant hills, dotted over with dark pinon, shining in the sunlight far away, and then up at the great overarching vault of blue above. Death had no morbid attraction for him; he was a lover of life, and the air of heaven tasted good as he drew it in. But he wanted no life that was disgraced in the sight of his own soul. He had come out to rescue this girl, and he would do it or die. These red men shilly-shallied; their one idea was to employ feints and stratagems, and take no risks. They must act according to their lights; his own course was clear.
"Then, Salvador," said he, looking the cacique hard in the eyes, "since you won't come on there's only one thing left to be done, and that is for me to try the thing by myself. What will you do if I go ahead alone?"
The cacique made no direct reply, but turned hastily to his three companions, and some rapid remarks were interchanged between them.
Quickly he produced a grey powder of some unknown kind from a little pouch, and he shared it out among his three fellow-tribesmen. They all of them bared their tawny breasts and rubbed it over their hearts, speaking magic words the while. The silent American gazed at them, half in wonder, half in scorn.
"What's all that amount to?" he asked.
"Strong medicine, Sooshiuamo, to make our hearts brave," answered all of them together.
"Then I'd rather you'd got a little sand in your craws," muttered Stephens in English. He had hardened his heart for a desperate venture, and their reluctance to follow him vexed him sorely. "There isn't one of them, not one, I don't believe, that's got any sand," he repeated. To have "sand," means to be willing to fight to the death when called upon, and that was just what these men were not willing to do. Then aloud in Spanish: "What's the good of all that tomfool business?" he asked.
"You're only humbugging yourselves about it. You don't really mean fight." There was bitter scorn in his tones.
"Oh, yes, we can fight," retorted the Pueblo chief, not a little nettled at the American's words, "but we're not fools--at least not such fools as to want to get killed. But we've got a very good place to fight from here. If you go forward by yourself, and they shoot at you, then we'll be able to shoot at them from behind these rocks. First-class shelter here."
"Oh, it's A1," said Stephens sarcastically; "it's a splendid place to shoot from at people who are four hundred yards away, and out of sight."
He gave a laugh of contempt. "Well, don't you make any cursed error, though, and shoot me in the back by mistake," he went on, while buckling his belt a couple of holes tighter, and securing his pistol holster at the back of his right hip so that it should not work round to the front of his body when he stooped and bent down to creep, as he must needs do, in the course of his advance on the Navajo camp. He saw to it that the buckskin strings which secured his moccasins were securely knotted, studiously attending to each detail with the tense nerves of the man who says to himself at every little bit of preparation, "_Now_ may be the very last time I shall ever do that." To his revolver and rifle he needed not to look; they were freshly cleaned and oiled, and full of cartridges; both would go like clockwork, and he knew it. He handed the riata of the mare to the cacique. "You look after her for me, Salvador,"
he said; "I don't know that I'll be needing her again, but I guess if I leave her with you I'll know where to find her if I do."
"Come on, Faro," said he to the dog, patting his head and raising a warning finger to bid him come quietly, as if it had been for a stalk on some unsuspecting stag, and turning his back on the four Indians the white man went forward alone.
CHAPTER XIX
RUN TO GROUND
Bending low, now creeping on all fours, now running with his body doubled to his knees, diverging to right or left as projections in the Lava Beds seemed to offer a favourable screen, but ever and always making for the front, the solitary man pressed on, his rifle grasped sometimes in the left hand, sometimes in the right, as the need for using one hand or the other in his advance arose. Twice he stopped to recover breath, while pushing his way onward, and cautiously twisted his head around to see what had become of his Pueblo friends; but they were invisible. Their skill in keeping under cover at least was undeniable.
On he went again, till finally he reached the brow of the great rise in the lava bed from which Miguel had reconnoitred the Navajo camp. Past this he tried to get without exposing himself unduly, but thrice he failed to find cover, and retreated again to look for a better spot. The fourth time he found a hollow in the lava with a rise on the right of it that promised him some shelter, and flat on his face in this he wormed himself slowly along, the eager bulldog flattening himself against the rock by his side. Often had he crawled like this beside his master to get a chance at a deer. But it was more dangerous game than deer that they were stalking now. Having gained some twenty yards by this creep, Stevens slowly raised his head to get a view of the new ground that he knew should become visible in front of him from here. He caught sight of a little green oasis amid the lava beyond, of a band of ponies grazing in it, and of figures seated in a group on the far side; and, by Heaven!
amid the figures his quick eye detected the flutter of a pink muslin which he had often seen Manuelita wear.
"Great Scot!" he ejaculated, "she's found. There she is." He raised himself a little higher to get a better view, and take in the details of the hostile camp, when suddenly a jet of smoke came out of the lava scarce a hundred yards away, the sharp snap of a rifle was heard, and a bullet clapped loudly on the rock close to his head. The Navajos were not taken by surprise.
The Navajos had spotted the Pueblo scouts; they took their appearance as a signal for fight, and now they were ready to give them or anyone with them a warm reception. This bullet was their first greeting.
The lead, splashing off the rock, spattered sharply on Stephens's cheek.
Instinctively he threw up his right hand and passed it over the side of his face, but the splashes did not even draw blood, and his eye was happily uninjured. In a moment he raised his rifle to shoot back, but before he could get a bead the gleam of the rifle-barrel from which the shot had come, and the head of the Indian that had aimed it disappeared.
"Dropped down to reload," said the frontiersman to himself. "He's a goodish shot, that Navajo son of a gun; that was a close call."
Lowering his head under cover, he decided to try a trick. Opening a recess in the butt of his Winchester, he drew out four little iron rods which, when screwed together, made a cleaning-rod about thirty inches in length. Then he took off his hat, put the end of the cleaning-rod inside it, and slowly hoisted it into view a yard or so away to the right of where he had looked over before. He lay on his left side and elbow, with his Winchester in his left hand, and the right arm extended raising the hat. Snap went the sharp report of a rifle again; there was a hole through the hat; dropping the rod instantly he seized his rifle with both hands and raised himself for a quick shot. But there was nothing visible worth shooting at. Once more the quick dissolving puff of smoke and the gleam of a rifle-barrel disappearing were all that he got a glimpse of. His little ruse had failed, and he was clearly discomfited, while a loud whoop of derision rang out from the rocks; it was the Navajo equivalent for "Sold again!" It was echoed from another quarter, and from another, by wild unearthly yells.
"Aha, white man," those yells seemed to say, "we've caught you now! How do you feel now? This is our country and not yours; aha! it is our home, and it shall be your grave; the vulture and the coyote know the Navajo war-whoop, and they are hurrying to pick your bones. Aha, aha!"
The solitary man felt his heartstrings quiver at the cruel sounds, but he kept his eyes glued to the place where the puffs of smoke had come from; the next time that devilish redskin put up his head to fire he would try who could draw a bead the quicker.
At this moment he was startled by a loud, coarse voice, quite close to him apparently, but coming from an unseen speaker. The words were Spanish. "_Es tu_, Sooshiuamo?"--"Is it you, Sooshiuamo?" The voice was the unmistakable voice of Mahletonkwa, with its thick, guttural tones.
Stephens hesitated a moment. Should he break silence and answer? He had neither fired a shot nor uttered a sound so far. But he had been discovered, for all that, and was there any further use in trying to conceal his exact position? He decided to answer.
"_Si, soy_," he called out in a loud voice. "Yes, that's who I am. Is that you there, Mahletonkwa?" But he did not turn his eyes in the direction of the unseen voice that had addressed him; he kept them fastened on the distant spot where he expected the rifle-barrel to reappear. Nor did he judge amiss. The hidden marksman, who thought that the American's gaze would be turned in the direction of the voice in answer to which he had spoken, put up his rifle for a third shot at him.
Quick as lightning Stephens brought the Winchester to his shoulder; but even now he did not pull the trigger, for as his rifle came up the Indian's head went down again, and again those wild derisive whoops rang out, and again the voice of the unseen man, concealed so close to him, addressed him in Spanish.
"What are you doing here, Sooshiuamo? and what do you want?"
Was the voice nearer than before? Was this only a trick of the Navajos to get him off his guard? Stephens mistrusted that it was so; but he coolly made reply. "Why do your men shoot at me, Mahletonkwa? I want to talk to you. I want that Mexican girl, the Senorita Sanchez, whom you have carried off." He would see if they were open to an offer.
"Who is with you?" asked the voice of Mahletonkwa. "Who are those behind you? Where are the soldiers?"