CHAPTER XVIII.
OUT AND AWAY.
At this same instant a bang on the oak from a large pistol butt--sohigh up that it revealed it was held in the hand of a giant or a man onhorseback, who had his reasons for not dismounting--fairly shook themassive door.
"Landlord, go challenge the newcomer," said Oliver.
Tio Camote, however reluctant, was forced to obey. A second blowquickened his step, and he even smiled as if the peculiarity of itsstroke were a well-known signal. He, therefore, opened the trap prettytrustfully.
A long hooknose, scarred in the middle, and a pair of gleaming eyes ina rather bloated face appeared at the little square hole.
"It is I, the captain," said a harsh voice with a shrill twang,testily. "We have brushed the brown skins afar, and we wantrefreshment."
"The captain," cried Sweet Potato, falling back.
"Well," said Oliver, "who's the captain?"
"Pedrillo! El Manco!" breathed the innkeeper, in awe.
"Speak up, you ass!"
"Captain Pedrillo el Manco," repeated the bar tender.
"Oh, One-leg Pete," said the hunter, with as much scorn as theydisplayed apprehension and respect. "Don't let me see e'en a one of yetouch that door."
He turned to Gladsden and the young Mexican, who was pale again, butcourageous.
"You hev seen that the 'Paches even kin spare a young woman of beautywhen their greed is keen. But, I tell 'ee, sir, I would rather all wasback where we began to play the game, and yon helpless redskin up inarms afore us, than have this poor lady in the power of that villainwho waits without, and is likely to wait till doomsday before I lethim in. He's cruel, merciless, wuss than a Digger Injin, and words canpaint no blacker! But he is a fool! He thinks he and his herd havedriven away the Poison Hatchets when their first chief is here! If theInjin will forgive this humiliation, which I doubt, hang me but I'llcut his thongs, set him on his feet agen, and we'll charge this scum ofthe brimstone pot between us and the Apaches."
"First, let those greasers know that if they breathe a signal to theirkindred thieves, you will silence the spokesman forever."
"One moment," said Gladsden. "This captain with the seared hooknose?Tell me more of him. In the same way that this young lady's face calledup the figures of the past most sweet in my memory, that peculiar phizreminded me of the most disagreeable scoundrel I ever came athwart thefoot of. What's he like?"
"A hardened man-devil. He lost a leg, so that he always sticks in thesaddle."
"A leg gone! How, how?"
"Chawed off by an alligator in some Texan _bieyoo_ (bayou), so theygive out."
"I have it! It is an old acquaintance! Only, he lost his leg by a sharkbite, I presume."
"All's one. Well, if you ever knew him, then you knew the biggestscamp unhung! And now keep those cowards silent. If we do not answerthe bandit, he will think Camote was pushed forward as a decoy by someApaches within hyar, and will be dumfounded."
After a pause the knocking at the door of the ranch was resumed, but asin one of the pauses, the angry solicitor of admission heard the "hee,hee, ha, yah," of an Indian song, due to the imitative skill of OregonOliver, he withdrew.
Taking advantage of this lull in the attack on the portals, the hunterwent back to the prostrate Indian chief, who had been chewing a bittercud, and squatted down on his hams in the Indian mode, at his head.
"Now, then, Cat, what have you got on your notched stick (record) totell off?"
The Apache looked up out of his indifferent and impassible demeanour.
"The white ranger is a great chief," said he. "Not many would havesnatched the pearl from among the head chiefs of the Poison Hatchets,whose slightest blow is death. I say, he is a warrior. He has come tohear me sing my death song; not to gabble to him like an old squaw. Iam ready to begin."
"Partly you're correct, chief. I am not come to chatter like themockingbird. But I prefer hearing your song of triumph to that of deathand mourning. Have you heard the voice of the wolf-with-the-leg-off atthe door of this mud lodge? Do you not know the voice of that dog, thecaptain of Salteadores?"
"Yes, the Tiger Cat has killed many of the foxes that follow that_ladron_ (thief), by walking upon them!" answered the Apachedisdainfully.
"To the point, then. If I free you hand and foot, will you lend us yourhand to help us shake the ground clear of these varmint? I'll give youa revolver to boot! And, more, you shall have one of these broken guns(the repeating rifles which bend at the barrel end) which speaks allone's fingers times hand-running, with ammunition to feed her up aslong as you run buffalo on the plains."
It was an enormous bribe. But the Apache was true to his wounded pride,and his inveterate hatred of the whites.
"The warriors that swing the poison hatchets," he replied, "lie wait inall the thickets around about the forest. In a little while they willfall on the Spanish, and then they will hear their chief singing hisdeath song, mingled with their whoop of triumph."
"All right," said the other, rising. "I thought it neighbourly to giveyou a chance. Sing away to your own pitch pipe."
He went over to Gladsden, who leant on the counter, whilst dona Perla,on the other side of the room, contemplated the scene curiously. Thediscovery that one of the strangers was the hero of her childhood'sromance, had filled her with complete confidence, and she thought nomore of prayer.
"Tiger Cat is a stubborn knot," said Oliver. "I can't squeeze anythingout'n him. He's never spared anyone, and when we quit this house Ipropose to set fire to it over his head. He has burned many a Christianalive, and it's sauce for the goose to roast him, too."
He said this so naturally that Gladsden knew he was not threateningwantonly, and so firmly that he forbore to argue with him.
"I am quite right in saying that the Apaches will never leave thisplace till they know the fate of their chief. They will soon attackthe robbers. When they close we will sally out, trust to luck to seizethree hosses for ourselves and the little dona, or to reach cover. Atthe last moment, since Tio Camote has been false and useless to me, Ishall broach a cask or two, which will make a glorious bonfire, and theApaches will only have their chief in a _puchero_ (stew), with mezcalsauce!"
Nature now clamoured for sleep and food. Oliver seemed able to dowithout the former, but he never refused solid sustenance whenavailable, like all the wanderers whose life is an irregularalternation of feasts and fasts.
Camote produced some sausage and corn cakes, as well as deer meat,of which dona Perla partook. Gladsden and she dozed off, neither ofthem heeding the continual popping of shots at long range betweenthe Apaches and the robbers. At about eleven o'clock, when the heatwas perceptible in the closed-in room without large windows or otherproper vent than the narrow smoke hole aloft, Oliver made a sign forattention. The landlord was eating and drinking noisily near the Apacheprisoner, tantalising him with all a coward's cruelty. His two aidshad disappeared under the counter, asleep deeply, if their mellifluousnasal breathing afforded a sure indication.
At the back of the ranch there was audible a scratching at the ground.Some living thing was trying to burrow into the house. At the same timethe fusillade of the Indians assumed a more regular form. Under coverof the guns the bowmen had advanced, and the twang of the string onceor twice came to the ear to prove that they had pushed on near thedwelling.
It was provoking to see nothing of the skirmish, protractedvexatiously, like all such warfare.
Suddenly Oliver took up a large empty cask and placed it on the counter.
"Keep watch thar, whar the critter is boring, and blow out the brainsof any head that presents itself, for we have none but enemies hyar."
He jumped on the counter, clambered upon the barrels, and with hishunting knife proceeded to make a gap in the roof. When the skyappeared there, he enlarged the hole and venturesomely pulled himselfup through it, crawling down on the flat roof. It was composed of sods,among which stray seeds had sprouted.
All the field, hitherto o
ne of conjecture, was exposed to hisexperienced view. After one sweep of his vision, he came down to thefloor, and relieved Gladsden's anxiety which had sprung up the momenthe was left entirely alone for the first time since they quitted ElPaso.
"They are all at hide-and-seek," he said, with a chuckle. "They do notmake the bark fly (cut the skin) once in a twenty shoots! It's tieand tie in such shooting--why did their pap trust them with firearms?Ne'erless, the 'Pach air working to get into the ranch, and they willrush the greasers back. One-leg has ridden off and hidden, I guess. Ican't see his hoss nowhar. As for the cattle of the Ingins, they arein two caballadoes--one yonder a good piece, and t'other nearer athand. We kin strike for them with some chance. There's on'y young menguarding them--and we're good for six a piece _sich!_ Wrap the littlesenorita up thick, mind, so she may not be _hurted_ by a flying bullet,and we'll shine out galorious when we make our break out. When I say'Out!' out we git!"
While the Englishman arranged the blankets and buffalo hides of thefallen Apaches as bucklers about dona Perla, the hunter went to theback of the room where the scratching had changed to the scooping outof earth; a piece of stone had been substituted for the scalp knife.
Oliver, though time was so precious, waited patiently at the edgeof the floor and walls. At last, the earth of the former moved asif a mole was making its tunnel, and then a brown hand emerged fromthe crumbling clods of packed mud. On that hand the hunter's knifedescended and severed two fingers as it was instantly withdrawn. Thesavage had the immense self-control not to utter a sound of pain, inshame at having put his hand so incautiously into the trap.
"He will trouble no more," said Oliver, wiping the knife on the leg ofUncle Potato's breeches as the nearest rag. "At least not before wewill git out of the way to receive him."
He went across the room, and, this time, removing the barricade, boldlyapplied his eye to the wicket.
"Now's the time," said he, instantly.
In fact a volley and the hustling of darts and arrows passed the verydoor, followed by a rush of softly shod feet as the Apaches at lastcharged the Mexicans.
"Out!" shouted Oliver, flinging the door open. "And you come, too,unless you like to be boiled in your own spirits."
For with one kick beating in a full cask, he fired the pouring alcoholwith the nearest lamp, and pushed Gladsden and the daughter of donBenito out of the door. A vast sheet of flame rose in their rear,and while Camote leaped through it, a fearful explosion in thatcircumscribed apartment denoted that another cask had burst, and wascontributing to the flames. The innkeeper's assistants were unable topass the burning fluid, and their appeals for help made the pinionedwarrior smile with fiendish glee.
He began his death song in a strong voice, though the blazing liquor,red, violet, and blue, gradually rolled towards him in his helplessstate, with little or no smoke to muffle the rays.
Through half a dozen stragglers the three fugitives made their way,the hunter literally bearing them down before his rush, whilst theEnglishman was as little impeded by half carrying the Mexican maidenon his left arm. However, the cluster of horses was reached, held inthe usual manner by all the bridles being passed over one, which twoyouthful warriors, who had probably never fleshed the scalping knife,were chafing at being detained there to hold. Besides them a stalwartIndian, whose flattened features hinted at the admixture of Africanblood, was on guard. Luckily he had fired all but his last shot inthe skirmishing, and he had only one arrow left in hand. With that hesprang forward to meet the flying trio, using it as a stabbing weapon.
Generously renouncing the use of his firearms, with that sometimesimprudent pride of the Caucasian who loves to win at fair play, thehunter flew at him with merely his own steel blade.
Whilst Gladsden smote the two striplings to the right and left, and waschoosing two of the startled and frightened horses for the girl andhimself, Oliver was engaged in a terrible, deadly, and pitiless combatwith his sworn enemy. They had grappled one another with veritablehooks of steel, and sought mutually to overthrow and stab. Their eyesflashed fire, they wasted their breath in taunts and revelations of themany deeds of mischief and death which they had respectively wroughtamong their opposing people, till their bated breath came but feeblythrough their grinding teeth. But for their speech in broken accents,they were scarcely human--mere wild beasts bent on rending and tearingone another till "the heart was bare."
"Oh, you air Mr. Rough-on-the-Herdsman, you air?" hissed Oregon Oliver,tightening a hug which the grizzly would not have disdained to borrow."Well, Mr. Death-to-the-Cowboys, how like you that? You've 'rubbed out'three solitary trappers, ha' you? How's that for a rub?--And that,and, still again, that!" And hurling the wretch to the earth under thecurveting mustangs' unshod hoofs, he nearly beat the last breath outof his wretched and bleeding body. In a moment he rose, this time notashamed to tear away the reeking scalp of the Indian who had in hisboasts touched on a painful chord.
"I bet my life," muttered he, seizing a horse by the nostrils, anddragging his head down irresistibly, "that senor Murder-the-Vaqueroswill wipe out no more lone trappers, durn his carcass--would he wereroasting alongside his chief! Innyhow, he can't fall, scalpless, inamong his brethren in the happy hunting grounds!"
All three were mounted now, a task which would have been far moredifficult only for the horses which Mr. Gladsden had selected beingby chance stolen from the Mexicans, and, hence, rather pleased thanalarmed at instinctively recognising hands more familiar than theirlast masters'.
The two Apache boys were crawling away for refuge in the corral cactus;thence to recover from the blows, and hurl insults and stones.
In a glance, Oliver saw their only chance was to run the gauntletbetween the burning house and those of the Apache's rearguard, who hadalready stopped, ceased to pepper the hidden bandits, and looked backtowards the horses in such wild agitation.
"_Hep-la!_" cried Oliver to the herd, applying his heavy hand to therump of the two or three that were within reach, "And away! _'Vantay!_(advance) Git!"
The horses preceded the three, but the latter's mounts participatedin the fever of escape, all the more as the heat, the smell, and theflames of the Green Ranch had struck their olfactory and visual organswith that terrifying influence of fire upon the equine race.
"Let 'em rip!" cried the hunter; "They'll not shoot in the midst, lestthey hurt a hoss. They're outrageous fond of horses, these 'Pach!"
As the furious cavalcade trampled by the Ranch door, the Englishmanfired a hurried shot within. Immediately, the chant of the Apache,which was audible above the crackling and hissing of the flames, ceasedshort.
"You are a good old hoss!" ejaculated Oliver, who divined the humanitywhich prompted the merciful bullet, though incapable of such foolishleniency, or, at least, inexcusable waste of ammunition himself. "Hedesarved all he was gitting; but, na'theless, it's better you had itoff your conscience. He's a green gilly," he added, under his breath,eyeing his pupil approvingly; "but for sand--you bet thar's a heap ofsand, thar. If it war writing paper from hyar to his sprouting ground,jest take him up by the heel and sprinkle him out over the hull spread,and there'd be enough to cover an old bull on the last squar' foot!He's made of grit, he is _that!_"
On the roof of the building they had perceived the blanched faces ofthe two bartenders. There they lay, after having been pursued up thegap in the ceiling by the fiery tongues, afraid to move, and so attractthe Apache's view.
As for Camote, he had vanished into a nook no doubt planned for somesuch eventuality, deep enough to require digging out.
As soon as the fugitives were surely out of range, first of the Apachesand, then, of the bandits, sufficiently engaged by the latter to bestowno more than a couple of random shots on the adventurers, they began topull rein hard. While actually looking back, there was nothing to seebut the column of flame and blue smoke from the Green Ranch. But afterhaving resumed their course, they heard a dull boom, like a cannonreport, of which the muzzle was in a cave.
"The heavy mud roof has fallen in," remarked Oliver; "the chiefs scalpis safe, and the spreeing den of the Sonora bandoleros will never housethem no more."
When the horses they rode were cured of their panic by kindly"horse-talk" of which the hunter was profuse, and when the rattle ofthe stampeded troop had died away utterly, the commonly dense stillnessof the wilderness fell upon all around.
"Those niggers will go on yelling and pelting one another till theirpowder gives out," remarked Oliver. "There'll be scarcely half a dozenstrokes to count, but, however, blood has been spilt, and so while theyare scrimmaging we can canter on."
Thus reassured, dona Perla smiled again. In a few words she acquaintedthe hunter with such landmarks around her father's estate as to enablehim to direct their course as straight as the _mottes_ or "islands"of woodland in the prairie permitted. But if the Mexican lady and theEnglishman argued well of the profound solitude, the Oregonian did notlay aside his watchfulness. Leading the van, three horse lengths, hisrifle across the saddlebow, bent forward so that the animal's headshielded his bosom, and his eyes peered over the ears, he retained allthat wariness demanded in Northern Mexico, where the axiom reigns:_Homo homine lupus_, not to be translated as it was done by anexcellent trapper friend of the author's, a squawman who had wedded anIndian woman and so became an ally of the tribe:--"Don't feed _loups_(wolves) with hominy," but, "Man is a devouring wolf to his brother."