"I think, mebbe, if I was you," said Backus to the young Indian, "I'd contrive not to be here just when they arrive, but go off somewheres and keep out of the way. If you have a notion in your head to do anything, better not let folks see you, as it were, waiting for anyone--you understand?"
Felipe understood perfectly. In the past three days he and Backus had come to understand one another only too well; there was no formal conspiracy between them; Backus was much too cautious to give himself entirely away to any confederate, more especially to one so green and inexperienced as this Indian boy, but each was perfectly aware of the other's feelings towards the prospector.
"Why shouldn't you jes' go back to your folks for the rest of the day,"
continued Backus, "and let 'em know how you're getting on? Likely enough the cacique and his son-in-law" (he always alluded to Stephens now as the cacique's son-in-law) "will be going on up there too, and you might chance to hear something interesting if you lie low. You can come back down here again after dark if you like, and I'll do up your arm for you as usual."
Felipe took the hint, and was off at once. The rest and good food, for Backus treated him extremely well--it was part of his game--had quite restored his strength, and except for having to carry his right arm in a sling he felt fit for anything.
Later on in the morning arrived the main party of Mexicans, headed by Don Nepomuceno and his son. They dispersed to their different houses to dispose of their horses and be welcomed back by their families, but they did not lay aside their arms, and it was not very long before they reassembled at the Sanchez house in expectation of the arrival of the other party. The cacique and his three fellow-tribesmen of Santiago preferred not to await the return of the Navajos, but pushed on at once for their own pueblo.
But, for the waiting Mexicans, hour after hour passed and no sign of the Navajos or of Manuelita and Stephens appeared. The sun climbed high in the heavens and sank slowly to the west, and still their coming was delayed. True, their exact route was not known, but it was guessed (and correctly guessed) that it was the short cut through the sierra, and if so it was calculated that they should have arrived long before noon. The anxiety became painful. All sorts of theories to account for the delay were started. There had been a quarrel between Stephens and the Navajos; they had killed him and Manuelita, or had at least made them captives and carried them farther into the wilderness to a securer hiding-place.
Or Stephens and Manuelita had made their escape from them during the night, and were now in hiding in the sierra, besieged there, perchance in some cave, and defended by the deadly rifle of the American. Many possible explanations were discussed, and many tales of Navajo treachery recalled to mind; but there was nothing to be done except wait.
Yet the cause of the delay was perfectly simple, and the result of the merest accident. When daylight came, and the sleeping band of Navajos awoke to find that four of their horses had strayed off, the owners immediately started on their trail to recover them, and till they returned Mahletonkwa declined to budge. He absolutely refused to divide his party, or to allow the American and the girl to proceed alone. Under the circumstances there was nothing to be done but wait, and Stephens determined to make the best of it. Hardy as he was, he could not but feel the strain of the efforts he had been making, followed as they were by a whole night on guard. He now left Manuelita to tend the fire and keep a daylight watch; he threw himself on the ground, wrapped in his blanket, under the shade of a bush, drew his hat over his eyes, and in two minutes was fast asleep.
It was well into the afternoon when the four Navajos rode bareback into camp with their truant steeds that had caused all this delay. Manuelita saw them arrive, and was glad to think that the hour for their final departure had come; once more she looked across where Stephens was still sleeping, and seeing that the babbling talk of the Indians, who were already saddling up, did not rouse him, she went over to where he lay and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Oh, Don Estevan," she said in her softest voice; but it was as if she had unwittingly touched the trigger of a gun. She was startled at the suddenness with which he bounded to his feet, broad awake, rifle in hand, the ominous click-clack of the lever sounding loud as he instinctively threw in a cartridge from the magazine; his flashing eyes darted one swift glance around, and then in an instant he recognised that there was no need for disquiet.
"Pshaw!" he said in half-apology, "I guess I was dreaming. Sorry if I startled you, senorita. I suppose I'm on my nerve a bit with all this trouble there's been." He looked at the sun. "By George! but it's afternoon already, and I thought I'd just lain down for a five-minutes'
nap. That over there means the Navajos have come in with the lost horses, I suppose?" He indicated the busy folk a little way off, where preparations for the start were going on.
"Yes," she answered, "they have but just arrived with them. That was why I ventured to call you."
"They must have had the dickens of a chase after them; those Indian ponies are beggars to stray," he remarked, carefully working the lever so as to extract the cartridge from the chamber. "And there's nothing happened, senorita, whilst I was asleep? All's quiet along the Potomac, eh?"
"No," she answered, "nothing has happened. I think the Indians have been rather suspicious that they might be attacked; they've most of them been out in the brush all morning on the watch."
"And you've been on watch here by the camp-fire," he said, "and I've been sleeping there like a log when I might have been talking to you"; he looked in her eyes with a smile as he rallied himself for his lack of gallantry. "And you've made yourself smart for the home-coming, I see.
That's right, senorita. You're not going to play the poor captive, not by no manner of means. We've just been out for a cheerful picnic party, we have, like those high-toned tenderfoot outfits that come out from the East and go to camping out in South Park with an escort of Utes to do them honour. Well, well; the pleasantest picnics have got to come to an end some time, and I see our escort under Mr. Mahletonkwa are really thinking of starting. I'd better go and catch up Morgana, and then we'll have you home in three hours. How's that for high?"
CHAPTER XXIV
WEIGHING THE SILVER
Twilight was falling as the armed band of Mexicans who had waited since noon around Don Nepomuceno's house saw through the dusk a long cavalcade approaching from the sierra, and in the front of it a lady mounted on a horse, and a man running at her side. It was Manuelita returning, accompanied by Stephens and the Navajos. There were muttered threats and sonorous Spanish curses, deep if not loud, hurled against the raiders, and pistols were loosened in their holsters, and belts drawn tighter and adjusted, as the party drew near. There were men among the Mexicans who burned to avenge the insult of the abduction, and were ready and eager for the signal to fight. All they waited for was the word to begin.
But their ardour was momentarily checked by the older and more experienced among them. The cavalcade was suffered to approach peaceably, and Don Nepomuceno running forward received his daughter in his arms. No sooner was she seen to be safe out of the hands of the enemy, than the anger of the high-spirited young Mexicans broke forth in spite of their elders, and they raised the war-cry.
At this juncture the voice of the American was heard above the tumult.
"Peace! peace!" he proclaimed loudly for all to hear, "it is peace. I am responsible. A bargain has been made, and I am bound to see that Mahletonkwa and his people come to no harm at your hands. Anyone who touches them attacks me now. My honour is pledged, so take notice all."
"I do not see what right you have to bind us," cried a young Mexican, one of the two who had brought the news in the morning.
Stephens handed the mare's rein to Pedro, who came running from the house, whither Don Nepomuceno had already conducted his daughter; he held his Winchester at the ready, and ranged himself alongside of Mahletonkwa, who was in the saddle in front of his band.
"I have the right of discovery," he declared boldly. "It was I who found her with them, and made terms for her release. Those terms shall be satisfied to the last dollar in my pocket and the last cartridge in my belt. Come, my friends," and he changed his tone a little here, "let us show ourselves honourable men. Faith must be kept."
His appeal was hardly needed by the older and more experienced Mexicans, who had dealt with the wild Indians too often before this not to agree with him fully, and their influence quickly reduced the young hotheads to reason. Assurances were given that the terms he had made should be kept, and the Navajos be freed absolutely from molestation.
Don Nepomuceno hurried back from the house when he had restored Manuelita to the arms of her aunt, and embraced Stephens with effusion, calling him her saviour and deliverer.
"Come aside with me one moment, my friend," said the American, holding him by the hand, and checking, as politely as might be, the flow of thanks poured upon him, "there is something I must speak with you about at once." They moved a little apart from the spectators. "I made a bargain with Mahletonkwa," said Stephens, "to guarantee him against any injury or retaliation for what has happened, and that has already been accepted by your good friends here. We were quite in the Indians' power, you know, and of course I was obliged to promise this. But I also promised Mahletonkwa a sum of money. In fact I must tell you that I promised him silver dollars enough to weigh down the rifle he carries; that will mean two hundred or two hundred and fifty, I expect. Now, I have not got them here, but I could easily get them by going to Santa Fe, only that would take so much time; and what I wanted to ask is, who is there among the San Remo people, do you think, that could advance me the amount? I should like to settle Mahletonkwa's business right away."
"But, my dear friend," cried Don Nepomuceno, "I will pay the money, of course. Thank goodness, it is only a quarter of what he asked at first."
"But it's my debt," interrupted the American. "I made the terms on my own hook entirely."
"Impossible, dear friend," cried the Mexican, "absolutely impossible and out of the question! You touch on my honour. I am most grateful to you for having succeeded in reducing his ridiculous demand by three-fourths, but not one _medio real_ can I suffer you to pay. I should be disgraced for ever in the eyes of myself and of my people. Thank God, the Sanchez family can still pay their scot, if they are not so rich as they were.
The silver shall be forthcoming immediately. Oh, there are ways and means,"--he nodded his head mysteriously,--"you shall see. How much did you say will be needed?"
"About twelve or thirteen pounds' weight of silver," returned Stephens; "at least so I guessed when I hefted his rifle."
"Very well," said Sanchez, "if you will remain here and keep the peace--I see some of our young men are hardly to be restrained--then I will go in and bring out the scales and the money, and he shall have his price."
He went into the house, and in a few minutes Pedro appeared with three long cottonwood poles and a rope. The poles were bound together at the top so as to form a tripod higher than a man's head, and a piece of rope was left hanging down from the apex. Then he brought out a beam with a pair of large rude scales, and the middle of the beam being attached to the rope the balance was formed. By this time it was dark, and Pedro returned once more for some torches of pine, which were lit and threw their weird lights flickering over the faces of the bystanders. The lurid glare lit up the swarthy, bearded faces of the Mexicans who crowded round, and the dark, smooth cheeks and flashing eyes of the Indians, who, recognising that Stephens had power to protect them from attack, dismounted and closed up the ring.
Then from the darkness appeared Don Nepomuceno with a heavy leathern sack, and approached the scales.
"Now, then, Mahletonkwa," said Stephens, "put your rifle in one of those scales, put it on whichever side you choose, and my agreement is to put silver enough in the other to pull it down."
The Indian came forward, and stooping down placed his rifle on one side of the balance. Don Nepomuceno stepped forward with the bag of silver towards the other.
"Wait one moment, senor, if you please," said Stephens to the latter.
"There is one little matter I wish to settle first. I think, Mahletonkwa," he addressed the Indian, "we agreed that I should give your rifle's weight in silver, was it not so?"
The Indian assented.
"Is your rifle loaded?"
"It is."
"And was that in the bargain?"
"It was loaded when we made the bargain," answered the Navajo.
"And is it loaded now in the same way?"
The Indian remained silent.
"I'm willing you should have the full weight of it loaded," said Stephens, "I don't make any objection to that. Will you, then, fire off the load that's in it now, and put in another here before us all, that we may see how big a load you use?"
The Indian sullenly indicated dissent.