COMANCHE HONOR.
With the departure of Captain Shields and his party, Lightning Jo and
Egbert Rodman set about the task of trailing the missing maiden, if
such a proceeding lay within the range of human possibility.
There was something strange and mysterious in this failure upon the
part of all to discover any traces of her or her horse. Had both or
either of them been dead, this scarcely could have been the case. Every
member of the party, excepting herself, had been accounted for, and
was either buried in the quiet grave among the hills or else was within
the stockade of Fort Adams, beyond the reach of the Comanches in the
South-west.
“Where can she be?”
This was the question that the two men put to each other and to
themselves a score of times in as many minutes, and to which no
satisfactory answer could be given. All was conjecture, and even that
was of the most vague nature.
Lightning Jo had very little to say, but he was in deep thought as he
moved morbidly about, with his eyes upon the ground, seeking out some
clue by which he might take up the hunt for Lizzie, with some slight
probability at least of success.
There were two facts which were constantly recurring to Egbert Rodman,
and which caused him an apprehension positively tormenting. The Terror
of the Prairie had been seen by himself and Lightning Jo but a few
hours before, at no great distance from where they were standing
at that moment, and he could not avoid connecting this with the
disappearance of the maiden. Precisely in what way, it was hard for him
to define, but he was convinced beyond a doubt that the two bore some
relation to each other.
Furthermore, the declaration of Lightning Jo that the appearance of
this nondescript boded coming calamity might be said to have been
verified in the present instance; for quickly on the heels of its
vanishment came the knowledge of the disappearance of Lizzie and the
presence of Comanches in these hills, proving the closeness of the
connection between the two. The loss of the maiden to whom his heart
clung with such yearning devotion was certainly the greatest calamity
that had as yet befallen young Rodman, and he involuntarily shuddered
as he recalled that awful ride down the canon, followed as it had been
in the case of Lizzie by some after experience, that was all the more
appalling to her friends, inasmuch as they knew nothing positive of its
nature and could only indulge in the wildest conjecture.
The only thing that afforded any thing like relief or consolation to
the lover was the fact that he had the companionship and assistance of
Lightning Jo in this search. Whatever was possible to be done for her
rescue and safety by mortal man would be done by this wonderful scout,
who was already busy making ready, and fully satisfying himself before
he fairly started to work in the matter.
Every thing indicated that the two men could not remain long in these
hills--for, aside from the fact that the demands of hunger could not be
postponed for a much longer period, the probability began to present
itself, that the girl was also gone from the vicinity.
“Do you not think it likely,” inquired Egbert, when his comrade paused
for a moment, “that when she emerged from the basin, as she did do,
that she has managed to reach some hiding-place among the rocks, where
she still remains--perhaps asleep?”
This possibility seemed to have been entertained already by the scout,
who instantly shook his head in the negative.
“If she’d have done that, some of the boys would have come across her
hoss, for he would have managed to get himself into the company of the
other mustangs, and would have been seen by them, in looking for the
others.”
“But there are our own animals yet; we have seen nothing of them.”
“But the boys did; they told me they see’d ’em both, and I’ll have my
critter in sight in less’n two minutes; see if I don’t.”
As he spoke, he uttered a low, quavering whistle, not very loud, but
sufficiently so to be heard a distance of several hundred yards. Then
pausing a moment he repeated the signal in precisely the same manner,
and added, in his way:
“That animal will be here, if he’s got forty Comanches trying to hold
him.”
“I only wish I could recover mine so easily,” laughed Egbert, as the
scout composedly sat down upon a large stone to await the coming of his
faithful mustang, “but I am afraid Mahomet must go to the mountain in
my case.”
“When I parted company with mine last night, the understanding was that
he was to go off and hunt a little something to eat on his own hook,
and he expected to be told when I wanted him.”
“And knowing that he will obey like an obedient child.”
“Exactly--there he comes this minute,” replied Jo, as the tread of some
animal was heard but a short distance away.
“Look out, Jo, that it is nothing else,” warned Egbert, stepping back,
so as to give the scout free room for whatever might come.
“I know his footstep,” was the response to this, accompanied at the
same time by a precautionary movement, consisting in the guide raising
the hammer of his rifle and bringing it to the front, where he could
discharge it, if necessary, with the quickness of lightning, posing
himself at the same time upon one foot, so as to be prepared to leap
forward or backward as the case might be.
This precaution had scarcely been taken, when the mustang of Lightning
Jo put in an appearance, accompanied by a Comanche Indian, who, sitting
astride of the sagacious beast, was in blissful ignorance of whither he
was being carried.
His position was the quiet one of ease and self-possession, showing
that he had no thought of any impending danger. From this fancied
security he was awakened by the sight of Lightning Jo, standing
scarcely a dozen feet away, with his rifle pointed full at his breast.
The mustang at a word from his master stopped short, and thus the
red-skin was brought face to face with the man, whom he recognized on
the instant as the most deadly foe of the Comanche race.
“Get off that hoss, you old galoot! he belongs to me. Slide mighty
quick or I’ll slide you!”
The substance of this was uttered in the Comanche tongue, so as to
make sure of its being understood, and the action of the red-skin
demonstrated that he had no difficulty in comprehending it on the
instant; for he slid off the back of the mustang as suddenly and nimbly
as if it had all at once become red-hot beneath him.
The savage held a long, beautiful rifle in his hand, and he was
evidently on the alert, either for a chance to use it or to dodge away
from his captor.
Had the circumstances been any different, the marvelous quickness of
the copper-skin doubtless would have enabled him to accomplish his
treacherous wish; but neither he nor any living Indian could play it
on Lightning Jo. If he thought he could, let him try it--that was all.
The scout wasn’t particular whether he made the attempt or not, as
there could be but one result; but the moment the Comanche’s feet
touched ground, he ordered him to approach within a half-dozen feet,
and then drop his rifle to the earth. The red-skin showed some
reluctance in obeying this; but when he caught the glitter of the dark
eye fixed upon him, he changed his mind and carried out the command
with an amusing alacrity.
“Where are the rest of you devils?” was the first rather pointed
inquiry, uttered also in the Comanche tongue, and with the muzzle
of the rifle pointed threateningly at the breast of the savage, who
replied, with a gesture peculiarly his own:
“There are but a few among the hills--no more than so many (holding up
the fingers of one hand); they are hunting for food; they will soon
take their departure to join their brother-hunters far to the south.”
“It would be a thundering sight better if they’d all join each
other down below,” was the conclusion of Jo, who continued his
cross-examination:
“Have any gone away in the night? Did any of the Comanches depart
before daybreak?”
“No; there were none here.”
The slight hesitancy, a certain peculiarity that accompanied this
reply, convinced Jo, on the instant, that the Indian was telling a
downright falsehood, and that, after all, he was gaining a slight clue
to the trail of the missing maiden.
His conclusion was that there were a few Indians among the hills, but
that the greater majority had left before daybreak. Precisely why they
had done so was more than he could understand; but their departure
unquestionably had something to do with the disappearance of Lizzie
Manning.
Jo was rather abrupt in his questioning, for the next was the pointed
demand:
“Tell me where the great chief, Swico-Cheque, is; I want to raise his
hair.”
The look that crossed the coppery face of the savage said as plainly as
words could have done, that he would have been extremely delighted to
see the scout attempt such a thing.
“I don’t know where he is,” he replied, without any embarrassment in
his manner; “he went away before the light came.”
There it was! the incautious Indian had let it out after all.
Swico-Cheque had taken his departure with the band that went off in the
stillness of the night.
The red-skin seemed entirely unaware of the slip he had made, and
awaited the further questioning of his captor as the heroic martyr
awaits the creeping up of the consuming blaze.
“I don’t know as I want any thing more of you,” remarked the scout, “so
I guess you can travel. It would be hardly the thing to scalp you after
I look you prisoner, though I’m sure you deserve it.”
This order was unexpected and surprising to the Indian, who stared a
moment, as if uncertain that he had heard aright.
“Come, ’light out of this, old greaser!” added Jo, the next instant.
This was all-sufficient. The Comanche stooped down, and picking up
his rifle, turned about with a certain dignity and walked slowly
away, disdaining to run, although no doubt anxious to get out of that
immediate neighborhood with as little delay as possible.