CHAPTER XXII
A WOUNDED MAN
When the triumphant cacique rode off with the daughter he had recapturedon the banks of the Rio Grande, he left Felipe stretched upon theground, breathless from his last desperate rush and half stupefied withdespair. The angry voice of the cacique sounded farther and farther off;the hoof-beats of the horses died away in the distance. Felipe liftedhis head from the sand; he was alone under the wide sky by the greatriver. The monotonous rush of the water seemed to intensify thestillness; the sun blazed down out of the blue sky; everything was atpeace except the despairing, rebellious heart of the boy alone in thedesert. How could everything go on so quietly when such a wicked thinghad just been done? Why did not the cacique's horse stumble and fall andkill him as he deserved? Why was life so full of injustice and cruelty?
Poor Felipe! The first time that it is brought home to us that thescheme of events has not been arranged for our personal satisfaction,nay, that it may involve our extreme personal misery, is a hardtrial--too hard sometimes for a philosopher; how much more so for apoor, untaught Indian boy.
"Cruel, savage, barbarous," he groaned, as he thought of the blows thathad rained down upon the shrinking form of his sweetheart. "Poor littlething! Poor little Josefa! I can do nothing for you now; I had best goand drown myself--there is nothing left to live for."
He got up and walked deliberately towards the river.
But before he reached the brink he had had time to reflect. "Nothingleft to live for?" he thought. "Yes, there is. I could kill Salvadorfirst. I could get my father's gun and do it. I don't care if they dohang me afterwards."
He knelt down on the river-bank, and bending his head over the water hedipped his left hand in, and by a quick throwing movement of the wristtossed a continuous stream of water into his mouth in the wonderfulIndian fashion which gives quite the effect of a dog lapping. As hequenched his burning thirst, and felt the cool, refreshing dash of thewater against his face, his spirit rose.
"I'll go straight back," he said to himself, with a dangerous expressionon his set face. "I don't need any rest. I'll be there before the sun'smuch past noon, and he'll be dead before night."
He washed the blood from his right arm and examined the wound. Thebullet had struck him between the elbow and shoulder and had passed outagain without touching the bone. The second shot had missed him. He toresome strips from his shirt, and bound it up as well as he could with hisleft hand aided by his teeth.
He drew his belt tighter to keep off hunger, and drank again beforefacing the long leagues of waterless desert between him and Santiago. Helooked at the rolling river and at the farther shore where he had solonged to be. "_Rio maldito!_" he cried. "Accursed stream, whathappiness you have robbed me of! what misery you have wrought us! Whycould you not wait only one day longer?" He turned away, set his facetowards the pueblo, and began his weary journey.
He soon found the weight of his arm grow more and more painful as hispulse beat faster with movement, and he had to carry it across his body,supporting it with the other. But he pushed on with a steady, untiringgait, showing the marvellous power of his race to bear pain and fatigueand hunger and thirst. On all the Western frontier there is no white manthat is not proud to be credited with "Indian endurance."
Curiously enough, he felt no fear. The cacique's threat to kill him didnot affect his purpose in the slightest. He had recoiled from instantdeath when the pistol cracked in his face, but that was onlyinstinctive, defenceless as he was against a man with firearms. He feltno shame at having done so. It did not seem to him cowardly to avoidbeing killed if he could. But he did not flinch for a moment when hethought of returning to the pueblo. No doubt Salvador would try to carryout his threat. "Well," thought he, "I must be beforehand with him. If Ican't hold my father's gun with this sore arm, I must get Tito's pistol;Tito is my friend; he will not be afraid to let me have it."
The sun rose high in the heavens and beat down upon him as he toiledalong, parching him with thirst. He was travelling the same trail backto Santiago that he had traversed the night before. The tracks of thehorses going and returning were plainly visible. But what a change forhim! A few hours before he had ridden that way feeling every inch aman, with his sweetheart in his arms and the happiness of a lifetimewithin his grasp; and now--As the thought stung him he pulled himselftogether and forced his weary feet to carry him on faster.
But anger had made him overestimate his own powers, in declaring that hewould be back, and the cacique dead, before night. His strength gaveout, and he had to lie down time and again to recover force enough to goon at all. Night overtook him, and he was compelled to stop and light afire under the lee of a cedar bush, and rest himself in the warmth of ittill dawn. Then he set forward, once more, slowly and stiffly, but everpressing onwards, with his face turned towards the village that was hishome, the village where his sweetheart must now be lying at the mercy ofher pitiless father. What might not he have done to her ere this! Thattorturing thought goaded him to renewed efforts.
When he reached the edge of the mesa he was crossing, he looked downinto the sandy valley that separated him from the next one; and thereright below him, coming at brisk pace, was a mounted Indian. Heinstantly crouched down to watch if the new-comer were friend or foe;but in a minute he sprang from his concealment. It was Tito,--Tito onthe mule of the American.
With a joyful cry he ran to meet him. Tito knew him and shouted back inwelcome. "Why, Felipe!" he cried, "I was looking for your body, and hereyou are alive. Jump up and I'll take you right back. But you'rewounded," he added, seeing his arm bound up. "Is it bad? Let me help youup," and he jumped off to help his friend to mount to the saddle.
"Salvador gave me a shot," answered Felipe as he got on with Tito'shelp; "but it's not very bad."
Tito turned the mule's head round towards Santiago, and jumping onbehind struck out for home. The tough little mule made light of thedouble burden, and rejoicing in the prospect of going back to hisbeloved mare set off briskly.
"Now tell me all about it," said Tito eagerly.
"Tell me first," answered Felipe, "where is Salvador? What has he donewith Josefa?"
"Salvador is made prisoner by the Americano," replied Tito, "for killingyou. They think you're dead over there, and they've given Josefa toSooshiuamo, hoping to keep him from taking the cacique to Santa Fe. Heasked for her." Felipe's heart gave a sudden bound. He knew of coursethat there were white men in many of the Indian tribes with half-breedfamilies, but he had never thought of Don Estevan as that sort of man.
"_Valgame Dios!_" he cried. "What does he want her for?"
"Who knows?" replied Tito guardedly. "Perhaps he wants someone to cookfor him and to take care of the house when he is away. It was he thatstopped the cacique from beating her."
"_Valgame Dios!_" said Felipe again. He hardly heard the rest of Tito'sstory. He was filled with new fears. Was everyone against him? Was theAmericano, of all men in the world, to be the one to supplant him? Heremained silent a while, but his suspicions were too strong to beentirely concealed.
"How did he ask for her?" he inquired. "Tell me, Tito."
"He said the pueblo had agreed to give him anything he wanted forblasting the rock," answered Tito; "and he said that he wanted her. SoSalvador gave her to him. They all told Salvador to do it, for theythought then he wouldn't take him to Santa Fe. They all agreed to it.Sooshiuamo has put her with Reyna. She's there now."
"Tito," said Felipe very earnestly, "will you lend me your pistol?"
"What for?" said Tito.
Felipe hesitated. Two conflicting plans of vengeance were strugglingwithin him. Then he answered, "The cacique said he'd kill me if I cameback. If he has a pistol, I ought to have one. It wasn't fair there bythe river."
"Nonsense," said Tito; "he's not going to kill you. Didn't Sooshiuamomake him a prisoner because he thought he had? Why, he was going to takehim to Santa Fe to be hanged for it. The cacique was frightened, I cantell you. He won't touch you
now, Felipe. Sooshiuamo won't let him."
"Oh, I'm sick of hearing of Sooshiuamo," broke in Felipe impatiently."Why won't you lend it to me, Tito? You used to."
"That was to go after wild cows," said Tito. "Now I don't know what youwant."
"I want to defend myself," said Felipe in a hurt tone.
"But there's no need to," said Tito. "Never mind what Salvador said. Hewas angry then. He is frightened now. Don't you mind him. It'll be allright. I'm taking you straight back to Sooshiuamo, just as he told me.He'll manage it."
It was easy to see who was Tito's hero now.
They came to the edge of the last mesa and looked down upon theSantiago Valley. Tito jumped off to ease the mule, who cleverly pickedhis way down the steep, rocky escarpment. At the bottom he sprang onagain, and they cantered in the last league over the lowlands.
Felipe resigned himself to fate. "If he wrongs her, I'll have hisheart's blood," he thought, but the imaginary "he" was not the cacique.
They reached the corrals, and they heard the cry raised of "Tito'scoming! Tito's here!" They pushed on through the crowd to the American'shouse, and Tito, proud of his success, sprang off before the door.
"See, Sooshiuamo, I have brought him," he shouted out joyfully, thinkinghe was there, as he aided his friend to dismount. "Here's Felipe. He'snot dead, but he has a bullet wound."
He pulled the latch-string, but the door refused to open. It was locked.
"I reckon you must shout a bit louder if you want Mr. Sooshiuamo, as youfellers call him," remarked a man who lounged against the wall nearReyna's door, which was only a few yards from Stephens's. "He aint tohome just now."
"Why, where is he?" cried the boys in concert.
"Gone off with the cacique," answered Backus, for it was he; "mebbe hethought change of air would be wholesome after all that rumpus they'rebin having this morning"; he laughed an evil laugh.
"Oh," cried Tito, "I suppose he's done as he said he would, taken him toSanta Fe for killing Felipe. But why couldn't he wait a little? HereI've brought him back Felipe no more dead than I am."
"No, nor he aint taken him to Santa Fe, neither," rejoined the Texan,with a malicious pleasure in mystifying the boys. He had gone straightto the cacique's house in his dripping garments after his fall into theditch, and had waited there, meditating revenge, while they were beingdried for him, during which interval he had obtained a full account ofall that had taken place, including the fact that Josefa had beentransferred to the prospector and was now under his protection atReyna's. He had just walked over to Reyna's, in the hope of interviewingthe girl, when the mule with the two boys on his back came in sight.
"All that gas of his about Santa Fe was nothing but a blind," he wenton; "what he wanted was to get Miss Josefa for himself. And he's doneit, too." He noted the flash in Felipe's eyes as he said this. "Yes,he's got her bottled up tight, inside here." He jerked his thumb overhis shoulder to indicate the house against which he was leaning.
"But that's only to save her from her father," exclaimed Tito hotly. "Hewas thrashing her like fury, and Sooshiuamo stopped him and took heraway from him." Tito did not feel quite sure himself what Stephens'sultimate object might have been,--Americans were such very unaccountablepeople anyhow,--but he was not going to have this other American sayingthings about the man who was his particular hero at the moment, withoutsticking up for him.
"Jes' so," rejoined the Texan, "he's got her away from her daddy, andhe's got her for himself. That's the size of it exactly."
Felipe said nothing, but the rage and despair which had taken possessionof his heart made him perfectly convinced that the base innuendo of theTexan was only the simple truth. Tito made another effort to withstandthe sinister meaning of the words.
"But he hasn't taken her to live with him," he said. "She's not in hishouse; it's locked up."
"Yes," said Backus, "for a very good reason. He's gone off huntingNavajos, and he's too jealous of her to leave her there by herself. Sohe's stowed her away, nice and handy, with his most particular friendnext door. See? Why, it's as clear as mud."
"What's he gone hunting Navajos for, though?" asked the puzzled youngIndian.
"What, don't you know?" said the Texan. "Oh, I suppose the news cameafter you'd started. Well, there's a pretty kettle of fish. The Navajoshave bagged Miss Sanchez, and run her off Lord knows where, and Mr.Sooshiuamo, instead of taking his newly made father-in-law off to jail,is using him as a smell-dog to run their trail. He and Miss Josefa'sdaddy are as thick as thieves now. Aint it so, what I've said?" and heappealed to the other Indians standing round for confirmation.
The incredulous Tito appealed to them, too; but the Texan had stated thefact correctly enough; and as for the interpretation he put on them,well, that was a matter where everyone must judge for himself. Opinionsvaried as to that, but the general verdict was in Backus's favour.
Felipe threw up his unwounded arm in adjuration. "If he takes her fromme," he cried, "my curse upon him from the bottom of my heart."
"You seem to take it hard, young man," said Backus eyeing him keenly."Say, though, you're looking rather dilapidated. What's wrong with youanyway?"
"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 tomake friends with the youth who would now and henceforward be Stephens'sbitterest enemy. "Come in here, young 'un, and let me look at it," hesaid, addressing Felipe; "it's a pity if I don't know a thing or twoabout gunshot wounds." He knocked at Reyna's door, and when she appearedhe said apologetically, "Won't you let me bring in a wounded man whowants seeing to?"
Reyna did not want either him or Felipe, seeing that she had already oneinvalid in the house, in the shape of Josefa, whom she was nursing in aninner room, and she particularly objected to any complications withFelipe in Stephens's absence. But to be hospitable is a cardinal virtueof the race, and she admitted them in spite of the difficulties shefelt. 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 therude skill of the frontier undid the makeshift bandage. The wound wasnaturally somewhat inflamed; he cleansed it with water and clean ragssupplied by Reyna, and did it up again for the patient. "There aint nobullet in that," he said, "or I'm a Dutchman. But you're liable to havean 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 downand 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 woundproperly here, for I haven't the right stuff with me. I've got some raregood stuff at the store, though, that works like a charm. Now, you comedown to me there, this evening when you're rested, and I'll fix it foryou good. You do jes' as I tell you, and I'll make a well man of youyet. _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 gotsomething to say to her. Where is she?"
"You'd better go right along and lie down," said Backus, disregardingthe interruption; "you aint fit to talk to her now, nor she aint fit totalk 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, norhad it been observed by any of the Pueblo people, so that Reyna had noidea of his hostility to Stephens, to whom she was devoted. Had sheknown of it she would not have called him "kind gentleman," nor even lethim inside her door. Now, however, she backed him in starting Felipe forhome under Tito's charge, the Texan reiterating his injunctions to keepquiet when he got there. Then he turned quickly to the mistress of thehouse. "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 aboss doctor, me, for wounds and bruises"; in saying which he did butspeak 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 theworld to see me. Come along, old lady, trot her out."
But though Mr. Backus had had reason for his boast when he declared thathe had had a good deal of experience of Indians, and that too ofdifferent sorts, he found now that he knew precious little of PuebloIndians, and next to nothing of the nature of the Pueblo squaw. Thisstout, jolly, comfortable-looking old lady (not so very old, either),whom he had imagined he could order about by virtue of his position asone of the superior sex as well as of the superior race, proved to havea 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 momentmean to abdicate. She had no notion of being told to do this or that byanybody so long as she was inside her own door, and this she let himknow. She was a woman of the Turquoise clan, and the Turquoise womenowned that block of buildings, and their motto was, "What's mine's myown."
The astonished storekeeper found he had to swallow the fact that Josefawas invisible to him for the present, and he was sharp enough to seethat it would do him not the slightest good to bluster. So he kept acivil tongue in his head, thanked Reyna profusely for allowing him todress Felipe's wound in her house, and promised to call again soon. Thenhe went off to the cacique's stable and got his own horse, which waswaiting for him there, and rode slowly home revolving fresh schemes ofrevenge.