CHAPTER FOUR
The shadows on the ground told Katherine's practised eyes that it wasnearly ten o'clock when she closed the book she had been reading toDonnie.
"We'll finish it this afternoon," she said, "and now the bread has to beworked, you know."
"I wish I could be like Sir Galahad, Marmee," answered the childwistfully. "Do knights hunt for the Sangreal any more?"
"Not in suits of armour, my dear; but we all can be like Sir Galahad,even today. The Vision of Right and Wrong comes to everyone. Then thetrue knight puts on his invisible armour and takes the oath of the RoundTable;--never to wrong rich or poor; never to be cruel; to show mercy tothose that ask it; always to be true; to take no part in wrongfulquarrel, but to help the weak and helpless and serve the King loyally."
"Can't I be a knight? I'm six years old and Doctor King said I wouldsoon be a real man."
His mother looked down at the eager face, then said tenderly, "Yes,dear. You can be mother's little Knight. Kneel down, like Sir Galahadand take the oath."
Slowly and solemnly the childish voice repeated the words of the RoundTable oath, while the distant yelp of a coyote quivered faintly in theair and the hooting of an owl sounded like derisive laughter for thewoman and child alone in the wild canyon. Neither of them heard thesounds. Lightly the child's mother touched him on the shoulder. Her eyeswere misty as she gazed down at the little knight who must someday goout alone against the hordes of invisible foes. Would he have thestrength to live up to the Vision? A leering face with bloodshot eyesseemed to confront her, and the child's father drew the boy away,saying, "He is mine as well as yours." She put the thought from her.
"Rise, Sir Knight! Defender of the weak and helpless!" she said, whileher hand rested on the boy's shoulder.
The child rose with serious eyes, then remembering what the book hadsaid, he knelt and kissed his mother's hand, looking up as he said,"Marmee, now I'm your knight really and truly and I'm going to take careof you all the time."
Katherine caught him in her arms, and the newly-made knight forgot thedignity just conferred, to nestle against her breast and talk of thewonderful things he was going to do for her when he was a big man; butnot once did he speak the name of his father.
As they talked, Katherine's eyes glanced at the high edge of the canyon,where the trail led to Jackson Flats; she was surprised at seeingsomething that moved along the trail toward the house. Two horsemen weredistinctly silhouetted against the sky, then a turn in the trail hidthem from view.
She rose hastily, speaking to the child. "Your father and Juan arecoming back," she said. "So, if you will run and get some dry wood, I'llstart the stove."
Donnie laid his book on the front room table and hurried out the backdoor, but Katherine, knowing the riders would reappear at another turnof the trail, took a pair of field glasses from a nail, and focused themon the point. She wondered if her imagination tricked her when she sawseveral other figures in the gap where the first two had appeared.Three, this time; then more followed, a fourth group loomed for a fewminutes, then they, too, vanished like wraiths.
Her breath fluttered, her heart pounded heavily, for she knew too wellwhat that line of riders meant. The glasses crashed from her nervelesshands, and Donnie came running to her side. She looked at him,paralyzed by the knowledge that those coming down the trail toward thelittle home, were Geronimo, the grim, blood-thirsty Medicine Man of theApaches, and his band of bronco Indians.
Stories of the hideous fates that had befallen women and children atvarious times of the Apache outbreaks, flashed across her brain. Thenshe recalled Doctor King's words, "You can't get an Indian within a mileof my place." To remain in her home and barricade herself was hopeless,but she could try to reach the protection of the Hot Springs with herboy.
Donnie asked no questions when she went into the house and returned atonce, buckling a belt of cartridges about her waist. A pistol swung inthe holster. The field glasses had not been broken in the fall; shelifted them and looked once more at the gap of the trail. There wasnothing to be seen. The Indians could not make fast time down from thatpoint, she knew, nor could they see the ranch or canyon until almost uponthe little corral back of the house.
"Come, dear," she said, as she seized the child's hand, and togetherthey hurried down the steps through the dense mesquite and shrubbery, onthe road to Hot Springs.
The child could not keep pace with her nerve-driven feet. She felt himlag, and looked down into his white face and tear-filled eyes, andrealized that he understood their danger. She stopped and clasped him inher arms.
"Don't be afraid, dear. They won't find us."
He tried to smile, but his lips quivered. In her desperation a thoughtwas born. It would be impossible to reach the Springs, but up on theside of the canyon was a large cave. She and the child had often gonethere pretending they were explorers. The entrance was concealed byheavy brush and surrounded by huge boulders. It had been a place ofrefuge many times for the child when his father's irascible temperawakened.
"We'll go to our cave," she said, "and you know we're the only ones whocan find it."
Donnie's hand gripped hers tightly, and with a sharp survey of the trailto Jackson, she started the climb up the steep canyon side, alwayskeeping in the thickest part of the mesquite. Down the canyon they had tocross the bed of the dry creek, but once that was passed the bouldersstood thickly. Slowly they made their way, for the rarefied Arizona air,the sharp pitch of the incline, the almost dead weight of the stumblingchild, the fear of those who rode back of them made the climb doublyhard.
At last they reached the entrance of the cave, and sinking to her knees,she half-pushed, half-dragged the terrified child into their place ofrefuge. With her arm about the boy, she sat huddled against the side ofthe cave, but through the brush at the mouth, she could discern theIndians riding down the trail that ended at the corral. They circledcautiously about the ranch, then growing bolder broke into threebunches. Two groups approached the house from front and rear, while thethird party dashed into the corral where the milk calf was kept, and ina few minutes it was dead. The Apaches, apparently in frenzied haste,slaughtered and quartered the calf, not taking time to skin the carcasswhich was tied in sections to the ponies. Others chased and captured allthe chickens possible, wringing their necks and adding them to otherplunder, until the leader, whom Katherine recognized as Geronimo, gave acommand which was reluctantly obeyed. The entire cavalcade mounted anddashed down the canyon, following the road toward the Hot Springs ranch.
Katherine knew that the real danger now confronted her. Though the canyonwas a mass of rocks, the roadbed where she had crossed was sandy, makingit possible that her footprints might be discovered by the sharp-eyedhostiles, who were constantly on the alert for signs. A short distancefrom the spot which might betray her steps, several of the Indianshalted suddenly, whirling their ponies and gesticulating to the others.The woman in the cave gripped the revolver more tightly.
"They will have to come up single file," she thought, then wondered whyshe no longer feared.
Carefully she calculated her chances, grateful for the obstructingbrush, the gloom of the cave and its projecting sides which wouldprotect her so long as her ammunition held out. One by one, she countedthe cartridges in the belt, without taking her eyes from the figures inthe canyon below. The distance across the canyon was so narrow, that thecall of a quail on the other side of the Apaches could be distinctlyheard by the woman.
"Six, seven, eight," the pitifully few cartridges slipped through herhands until the last two lay in her upturned palm.
She looked at them, then her eyes travelled to the child, and she knewthat she would not flinch at the last moment. It was the only thing fora mother to do in Arizona, miles away from any living being except'bronco' Apaches.
Donnie's eyes met hers, but he asked no question with his lips. TheIndians were becoming more excited. Their voices reached the place wherethe mother and boy had found refuge. Katherine peere
d through thebushes. Geronimo was speaking, the others listened, and in obedience tohis gesture, wheeled their ponies and rode up the side of the canyonopposite the cave. They reached the ridge, halted a few minutes inconsultation, then turned their ponies' south-east along the backbone ofthe elevation until they vanished like a hideous nightmare.
"They are gone," she spoke with white-lipped tenseness, as she held thetrembling boy in her arms, and the full realization of their narrowescape swept over her.
Immediate danger was past, but it would not be safe to venture from thecave. Stragglers might arrive at any moment. Familiar with Apachesuperstition which prevents raids or fighting during night, she decidedto remain in the cave until it was dark, then creep to the house andobtain food and water. Sunrise was the favourite time with Apaches inmaking attacks. She dared not further attempt to reach the Hot Springs.Then she wondered if her husband and Juan had escaped the Indians ornot.