TWO GOOD SHOTS.
“WAL, then, Jennings tells Sam everything that had took place. It was
wonderful the control the ranchman showed over himself. His face was as
white as death, but he didn’t tremble, and talked as if he was speaking
about the cattle. Sam thought that the Apache, having the extra load of
the child and dead warrior, would not be able to travel fast, and there
was a chance of fetching him off his pony, but Jennings feared there
was a party of the varmints near by, and that he would jine them.
“Howsumever, you may be sure they didn’t lose any time talking, but
jumping into their saddles, was off across the plain like a couple of
whirlwinds. The trail showed that the Apache, with the gal and dead
warrior, had kept close to the bushes that grew along the stream,
which was not very broad, and runs into the Gila.
“A mile from the ford the two were surprised to come upon the body of
the Apache that had been tumbled from the horse by Sam’s Winchester.
The other must have got tired of carrying him, or was afraid his load
would get him into trouble.
“‘At any rate,’ said the father, ‘Mabel is alive, though there’s no
sayin’ how long she will stay so.’
“Just then both catched sight of the very Apache they was after. He was
coming from the bush on a swift gallop, and still holding the crying
child in front of him.
“Now, that Apache showed less cunning than is generally showed by his
people, for, by thus hanging back, he gave the pursuers the very chance
they wanted to come up with him. Even then he had so little fear that
Jennings and Sam believed there was a party near at hand, though, as it
turned out, it wasn’t so.
“As he come out of the bush, he struck across the open plain, with
his pony on a sharp gallop, while little Mabel, seeing her father,
stretched out her arms agin toward him and begged him to take her home.
“‘Leave him to me,” said Jennings, bringing his Winchester to his
shoulder. The redskin raised the child again, but he was just a second
too late, for he rolled off his horse with a hole bored through his
skull, as dead as dead could be.
“Mabel was bruised by her fall, but the Apache was killed so quick that
he hadn’t a chance to put her out of the way, as he would have done had
he knowed what was comin’. She was soon in her father’s arms, and all
come out right as it does in the stories.”
Despite the interest in the incidents related by the Texan, the eyes
of all three were fixed on the dreaded tarantula, which had been
comparatively motionless for some minutes. It now began creeping toward
the face of Strubell, who said in the same unwavering voice:
“He’s coming this time sure! He means to bite, boys, and it’s all up
with me——”
At that instant, the oppressive stillness was broken by the sharp
report of Lattin’s revolver, which he had extracted from his belt
a few seconds before. He levelled and fired the weapon with such
marvellous quickness that his friends hardly caught the movement.
But the aim was perfect. The tarantula that was straddling across
the chest of the prostrate Texan, surcharged with virus and about to
inflict its fatal bite, vanished as though it had never been. There was
a faint whiz, and it was gone into nothingness.
Arden Strubell did not stir, but remained with his hands clasped behind
his head and every muscle motionless. Then, as his comrade pronounced
his name, his elbows fell and the head partly rolled to one side.
“By George!” exclaimed Lattin, springing up, “that’s the first time I
ever seen Ard faint away.”
“I don’t wonder that he did!” said Nick, as he and Herbert also hurried
to his relief.
They were hardly at his side and stooping over him, when he opened his
eyes with a wan smile, and said faintly:
“It seems to have been a little too much for me, boys.”
But he quickly rallied and assumed the sitting position.
“I had just made up my mind to give the spider a flirt with my hat,” he
said, “but the tarantula is so quick, I knew it would get in its work
before I could brush it off. If I had struck at it with my hat when I
first saw it there would have been an even chance, but I felt as though
my arms were made of iron, and I was like a man with the nightmare, who
cannot force his limbs to move. That was a good shot of yours, Baker.”
“I’m rather proud of it,” replied Lattin, settling back on his blanket,
“and I thought it must come to that from the first, but I was so afraid
of missing, that I put it off to the last second. If I had failed, the
report would have started it into bitin’ you before I could give it a
second shot.”
“I wonder whether there are any more of them around,” said Herbert,
glancing furtively about.
“That’s what has troubled me,” added Nick.
“I don’t think any more of them will bother us,” remarked Strubell,
quick to recover from his fright; “we must expect these little
annoyances in this part of the world.”
“Yes,” observed Lattin, “when you find such a fine climate as we have,
and everything else just right to make you the happiest chap in the
United States, which means the happiest in the world, you oughter be
willing to pay for it.”
“Well,” said Nick, who, now that the oppressive burden was lifted,
could smile at the conceits of his friends, “when we come to add the
sum total, it will be found pretty much the same the world over. It
seems to me, after the fright we have all had, that none of us will be
able to sleep.”
“What time is it?” asked Strubell. Nick looked at his watch, and
replied that it was near eleven o’clock.
The Texan gathered the folds of his blanket around him, turned on his
side, and within five minutes was asleep. The youths were amazed, but,
as Lattin remarked, it was all easy enough when you became used to it.
It was the place of Herbert to watch over the camp from eleven until
one o’clock, at which hour Nick would take his turn, Lattin and
Strubell following in turn. The former willingly kept company with
the boys while they discussed the startling occurrence early in the
evening. By and by, however, the Texan became drowsy, and, bidding his
young friends good-night, he too gathered his thick blanket about his
muscular form, and joined his comrade in the land of dreams.
When Herbert took out his handsome watch to wind it, he leaned forward,
so that the light from the fire fell upon its face. It happened that
both hands were exactly together at the figure twelve, so that it was
midnight and his duty was half over.
He looked round at the impressive scene. The fire was burning cheerily,
though with the help of their thick, serviceable blankets the warmth
was not needed. The horses were lying down, or cropping the grass,
which was not very abundant in the immediate vicinity, and were too far
off in the gloom to be seen. Each of his friends was so swathed that he
resembled a log of wood when viewed from a short distance. The feet
of all were turned toward the blaze, that being the general rule when
sleeping in camp. The saddles, rifles, and extra luggage were loosely
piled at one side, and Herbert, who was always inclined to be pressed
down by his responsibility at such a time, could not help reflecting
how completely a party of Indians or outlaws could place the hunters at
their mercy by a sudden dash from the gloom.
But that kind of danger was not thought of by either of the Texans, who
were not riding though this section for the first time.
It was only a few minutes later that Herbert heard one of the horses
emit a slight whinny, as if something had disturbed him. The youth
peered in the direction whence it came, but there was no moon and he
discerned nothing.
“I wonder what it is,” he said, pressing his Winchester to make sure
it was actually within his grasp; “it may be another tarantula, a
rattlesnake, a bear, or some other wild animal or wild person trying
to steal into camp without alarming us.”
One of the other ponies snuffed the air, the noise being as distinct in
the stillness as was the sound of his watch when he wound it.
Herbert would not have been blamed had he awakened Strubell or Lattin,
but he decided to wait before doing so. There was barely a possibility
of peril from Indians or white men, and he considered himself able to
meet any other kind.
The air, that had been oppressively still, was stirred by a breath
which brought to him a peculiar sound. It lasted only a moment, and
resembled the faint tapping of myriads of hammers on the earth—so
numerous indeed that he suspected its meaning.
Applying his ear to the ground, he caught it with greater distinctness.
It was as he supposed: an immense number of cattle were galloping over
the plain, beyond the hills. They might be on their way to water or had
been startled by some trivial cause, which often stampedes a drove that
numbers thousands.
“Now if I find they are coming this way,” thought the youth, “I will
wake Strubell. They wouldn’t be likely to enter the hills and run over
this fire, but they might make trouble for our ponies.”
At intervals of a few minutes he pressed his ear to the earth as
before, and listened closely. The second time he did so he was certain
the peculiar sounds were more distinct; but, waiting a brief while, he
tried it again, and concluded they were neither louder nor fainter.
“They can’t be standing still,” was his logical conclusion, “and must
soon come nearer or go further off.”
Only a few minutes were required to settle the question: the cattle
were receding, and doing so with such rapidity, that, much sooner than
would have been suspected, the sounds had died out altogether.