"He's got a bullet in his arm," answered Tito for him.
"Then why the mischief couldn't you say so before, you plumb idiot?"
exclaimed the Texan, who instantly divined that here was a chance to make friends with the youth who would now and henceforward be Stephens's bitterest enemy. "Come in here, young 'un, and let me look at it," he said, addressing Felipe; "it's a pity if I don't know a thing or two about gunshot wounds." He knocked at Reyna's door, and when she appeared he said apologetically, "Won't you let me bring in a wounded man who wants seeing to?"
Reyna did not want either him or Felipe, seeing that she had already one invalid in the house, in the shape of Josefa, whom she was nursing in an inner room, and she particularly objected to any complications with Felipe in Stephens's absence. But to be hospitable is a cardinal virtue of the race, and she admitted them in spite of the difficulties she felt. After all, Josefa was safely stowed away out of sight and hearing.
The Texan placed the boy on the ground close to the light, and with the rude skill of the frontier undid the makeshift bandage. The wound was naturally somewhat inflamed; he cleansed it with water and clean rags supplied by Reyna, and did it up again for the patient. "There aint no bullet in that," he said, "or I'm a Dutchman. But you're liable to have an ugly arm, if you don't look after it properly. Now you listen to me.
You go right home to your mammy, and have a bite to eat, and lie down and keep quiet. Keep plumb still, d'you mark me, and don't go talking.
Rest's what you're wanting this minute. But I can't dress your wound properly here, for I haven't the right stuff with me. I've got some rare good stuff at the store, though, that works like a charm. Now, you come down to me there, this evening when you're rested, and I'll fix it for you good. You do jes' as I tell you, and I'll make a well man of you yet. _Sabe?_" He helped the boy to his feet and led him to the door.
"But I want to see Josefa," said the boy, addressing Reyna; "I've got something to say to her. Where is she?"
"You'd better go right along and lie down," said Backus, disregarding the interruption; "you aint fit to talk to her now, nor she aint fit to talk to you."
"Let me see her," cried the boy passionately. "I must."
"Hush!" said the old squaw severely, "she's asleep. You'll disturb her.
Do what the kind gentleman says, and go home."
Backus had said not a word to a soul as to his fracas with Stephens, nor had it been observed by any of the Pueblo people, so that Reyna had no idea of his hostility to Stephens, to whom she was devoted. Had she known of it she would not have called him "kind gentleman," nor even let him inside her door. Now, however, she backed him in starting Felipe for home under Tito's charge, the Texan reiterating his injunctions to keep quiet when he got there. Then he turned quickly to the mistress of the house. "And how's the other invalid getting on? How's the new Mrs.
Stephens?"
"She does very well, now," said the squaw cautiously.
"Don't you think I'd better prescribe for her?" asked the Texan; "I'm a boss doctor, me, for wounds and bruises"; in saying which he did but speak the truth. "Come on, let's have a look at her."
"She's resting now," said the squaw. "Better she try to go to sleep."
"Oh, pshaw!" said the storekeeper; "it'll do her all the good in the world to see me. Come along, old lady, trot her out."
But though Mr. Backus had had reason for his boast when he declared that he had had a good deal of experience of Indians, and that too of different sorts, he found now that he knew precious little of Pueblo Indians, and next to nothing of the nature of the Pueblo squaw. This stout, jolly, comfortable-looking old lady (not so very old, either), whom he had imagined he could order about by virtue of his position as one of the superior sex as well as of the superior race, proved to have a decided will of her own. It was her house he was in, her very own, and, what was more, she was mistress in it, and did not for one moment mean to abdicate. She had no notion of being told to do this or that by anybody so long as she was inside her own door, and this she let him know. She was a woman of the Turquoise clan, and the Turquoise women owned that block of buildings, and their motto was, "What's mine's my own."
The astonished storekeeper found he had to swallow the fact that Josefa was invisible to him for the present, and he was sharp enough to see that it would do him not the slightest good to bluster. So he kept a civil tongue in his head, thanked Reyna profusely for allowing him to dress Felipe's wound in her house, and promised to call again soon. Then he went off to the cacique's stable and got his own horse, which was waiting for him there, and rode slowly home revolving fresh schemes of revenge.
CHAPTER XXIII
A PICNIC PARTY
The discovery of Felipe seemed quite a godsend to Backus as he wended his way through the Indian lands back to San Remo. Had he had a pistol on him when Stephens struck him that morning he would have shot him, or tried to shoot him, then and there. But now that his fit of passion had gone by, he determined to pay the prospector out in his own way and at his own time. Looking at the matter in cooler blood he could see that he would let himself in for a lot of trouble if he killed Stephens with his own hand. In the first place, there would be a trial, and lawyers to be paid, and that would come expensive, very expensive; and, secondly, Stephens had friends capable of going on the war-path. These confounded redskin allies of his seemed so unaccountably devoted to him that they might take it into their heads to perforate anyone who harmed him in a highly unpleasant manner, to judge not only by Tito's talk, but by the action of this stubborn old squaw, who had flatly told him at last that he shouldn't even set eyes on Stephens's girl in his absence. And now here was just what he wanted, an instrument prepared to his hand. With a little judicious spurring, a little help on the sly, Felipe would be quite ready to stick a knife in Stephens's back some night, or blow the top of his head off, and he, Backus, would stand entirely clear--ay, need not even lose the trade of the pueblo. Really it seemed quite providential. The only question that occurred to him was, whether Felipe would come down to see him, which would be most convenient, or whether he would have to go back to the pueblo to hunt for him. "But there's small fear of that," said he, as his horse splashed through the Santiago River before entering San Remo; "that sore arm of his'll bring him along, if not to-night, then to-morrow, certain."
Mr. Backus was exceedingly accurate in his diagnosis of Felipe's frame of mind, as well as of the condition of his arm. The young Indian obeyed him implicitly in the matter of going home, taking food, and lying down to obtain a good rest. He rose again later in the afternoon, and went for the second time to Reyna's house, only to find that for him there was to be no admission. Reyna was perfectly clear that until Stephens came back and settled what was to be done, the less the young people saw of each other the better it would be for all concerned. She was very friendly, rather amusing, and perfectly inexorable. As to the health of her patient, all Felipe could learn was that she was getting along nicely, thank you, and was in absolute need of rest, and would be so for a day or two longer,--until Stephens came back in fact. At present she would not even go out of doors.
All which did but root more firmly in Felipe's mind the conviction that Josefa was destined for Stephens, and that this was why the door was barred against him. Nursing his wrath, he turned away to meet Tito. For the second time he tried to borrow Tito's pistol, which that discreet young man entirely declined to let him have so long as he continued in his present frame of mind.
"You can't want it to defend yourself, Felipe," he said very decidedly, "for the cacique isn't here."
"Yes," said the boy sullenly, "but he'll be back in two or three days, and I'm not going to have him shooting at me again, and I not have anything to shoot back with."
"Pooh!" said Tito, "don't you fret yourself. He's not going to bother you any more, you may be sure. Take it easy; that's all past and gone."
But Felipe declined to take it easy. Finding Tito's mind was quite made up, he went back to his mother's house, and announced his intention of going down to San Remo to get his arm dressed by the storekeeper. He took his blanket with him, and added, as he started, that if Backus would let him sleep down there, he wasn't coming back till the morrow, or even later. He reached the store at dark, and found Mr. Backus at home.
"Come right in," said the Texan, as the boy with his blanket wrapped round him appeared in the doorway of the house after knocking, "come right in and set down. I was expecting you." He placed him in the light of a kerosene lamp, undid the arm, and dressed the wound again with some stinging stuff out of a bottle that made it smart. But the sharp throb of the wound gave no such stab to Felipe as the inquiry, casually dropped, "Wal', have you called on Mrs. Stephens to pay your respects yet?"
The boy confessed his vain attempt.
"Hah!" said the Texan, "so they're keeping her locked up tight, eh?
Well, well; that's rather tough on you. But I don't wonder at it, now that Mr. Stephens and the cacique are in cahoots together. Of course they don't want anybody smelling around there when they are off and out of the way. No, they've got her there and they mean to keep her. But I know what I'd do if a man stole my gal away from me and shut her up."
"What would you do?" inquired Felipe, with averted eyes. He had his head turned to one side, and was looking down at the hole in his arm which Backus was dressing.
"Me!" said Backus, "I'd fill the hound's hide so full of holes that it wouldn't hold shucks. That's what I'd do. And I'd lay for him, too, and get him when he wasn't expecting it. A man like that, as would steal another man's gal away from him, don't deserve any more show than a mad dog."
"I haven't got a pistol,"--Felipe's voice trembled a little as he said this,--"but I could buy one, perhaps, if it wasn't too dear, if I knew of one for sale."
"A knife's surer than a pistol," said the Texan cautiously; "though I allow a feller that's only got his left arm to use is rather at a disadvantage with a knife. So he is with a pistol, unless he practises shooting left-handed. However, if he gets up close, and takes his man from behind when he aint looking out for it, he can't hardly miss, and he hadn't ought to need a second shot."
"Do you know of anyone that's got a pistol for sale?" said the boy earnestly.
"Wal', yes," said the Texan, "I do happen to know of a very good pistol that's for sale. In fact, a man left it with me to be disposed of." Mr.
Backus did not deal in firearms, but second-hand ones sometimes came in his way as part payment of a debt. "I could sell it for him, and afford to take a very reasonable price for it. It's a first-class weapon." He finished tying up the wounded arm, and released his patient.
"Thank you, senor, a thousand thanks for all your kindness," said Felipe, rising. "May I see the pistol?"
The storekeeper took a key from his pocket, unlocked a chest, and produced a heavy, old-fashioned, muzzle-loading Colt's revolver in a leather holster. He drew it out; it was well smeared with grease. He pulled the hammer to half-cock, and spun the cylinder round, click, click, click, with his finger.
"She's not new," he remarked; "but she goes like clockwork, and she'll throw a conical ball through four inches of pine wood. I've tried her at a mark, too, and she'll hit the size of a silver dollar at ten yards every pop, if you're man enough to hold her steady." He handed it over to Felipe, who examined it with great care. Though he had never owned a weapon of his own, he knew how to handle one. They did not read or write in the pueblo, but they had compulsory education for all that; every boy learned two necessary things, the use of weapons and the use of tools.
And they never required any salaried attendance officer to drive them to school. The boy drew back the hammer with his left thumb, holding the barrel with his stiff right hand, and squinted down the sights.
"That's right," said Backus approvingly, "I see you know all about it.
Now that pistol cost fifteen dollars new, and I can sell it to you for four dollars and a half, and there's a little ammunition that goes with it, thrown in. It's as good as new, too; these Colt's pistols never wear out, but they've got a new style now with copper cartridges, and that's why these old-fashioned ones are cheap." It was all quite true.
Mr. Backus loved truth, it got you such a useful reputation; he never lied except when he thought it would pay him, and then he could lie like a gas-meter.
Felipe produced the cash, and slipped his belt through the loop of the holster. He felt himself more a man now; from this time forward he would go "heeled."
"No use your going back all that way to the pueblo," said the storekeeper, "and it won't do your arm any good. I can let you sleep here in an outhouse, and I've lots of sheepskins I've traded for that you can spread down for a bed." The Indians despise soft mattresses, but love to lie on skins.
For the next three days Felipe was Backus's guest. His wounded arm made rapid progress towards recovery, and the boy spent his days either squatting in the store with his blanket drawn round him, silently noting all that went on, or in lounging round the corral, looking after Backus's horse and practising aiming at a mark with his new toy. He could not afford to waste his ammunition, but Backus showed him how to put on old caps to save the tubes from the blow of the hammer, and by snapping it thus he acquired a useful familiarity with his weapon.
For three days no tiding came to San Remo of Manuelita and her captors, or of their pursuers. But on the fourth morning two young Mexicans came spurring in from the westward, and reined up their weary horses before one of the San Remo corrals. They were soon surrounded by eager questioners, boys and women mostly, and the storekeeper and Felipe were not long in joining the throng. The young men felt their own importance, and dealt out their information gradually. No, there had been nothing to call a fight, and no one was hurt, though there had been some shots fired. Yes, the Senorita Manuelita Sanchez was all right. She and the Americano, Don Estevan, and the Navajos were all coming home together in one party; and Don Nepomuceno and Don Andres with the rest of the Mexicans were also coming home together, but by a different route, and along with them were the Santiago trailers. The various incidents of the expedition,--of the loss of the trail and of the finding it again, of the renewed pursuit almost to the verge of the Lava Beds, and of the meeting there between the party of Mexicans and the returning Santiago trailers, who announced to them that Stephens, with Manuelita and the Navajos, were already on their way back to San Remo,--all these things had to be related at length and with impressive detail. And then, their horses unsaddled and attended to, these young men, who had been riding a good part of the night, slipped away to contrive an interview with their sweethearts, to get quickly back to whom they had ridden far and fast. The young men of San Remo were neither laggards in love nor dastards in war.