We have already seen that Sam was cool and brave, and such characters
but rarely act from impulse. Yet there are times when impulse is more
effective than all the calm reasoning in the world, and this was one of
them.
On the way to the spring with Blanco, Sam felt very nervous. He did not
have much faith in the chief's profession of friendship for the whites,
and from what he remembered of Hank Tims' stories about the Apaches, he
believed them to be a very treacherous and bloodthirsty people.
But the sight of Ulna, prostrate and bound, scattered all Sam's fears
and indecision to the winds.
"This is my friend!" he shouted as he sprung to Ulna's side and drew his
own hunting-knife.
"Hold! He is a Ute and my foe!" roared the chief.
But neither his words nor his movements could stay Sam Willett, who was
now blind to everything but the condition of his brave friend.
Two rapid flashes of the knife, and the cords that bound Ulna's hands
and feet were severed.
Ike and Wah Shin trembled at the audacity of their young leader.
Even Blanco and his braves were speechless and helpless for the moment,
and looked from one to the other, as if wondering what this
extraordinary young white man would do next.
They had not long to wonder, for Ulna, in the very second that he was
freed, sprang to his feet, leaped at the nearest Indian, who chanced to
hold the repeating-rifle that had been taken from himself the night
before, and tearing it from his grasp, he bounded up the ravine before a
hand could be raised to stay him.
"Shoot! shoot!" cried the chief when he could regain his breath.
"Don't fire!" shouted Sam as, with his own gun raised, he sprang
directly in front of the Apaches.
They did not fire, perhaps because it would have been useless, for
before they had fully realized the order of the chief and why it was
called out, the fleet-footed Ulna had vanished up the rift.
Blanco shouted for the braves to pursue, and on the instant four of the
youngest and most active leaped forward, like blood-hounds freed from
the leash.
With yells that frightened the dog and made him crouch behind Ike, the
Apaches started up the ravine.
Sam was about to follow them, but the chief caught him by the shoulder
and said sternly:
"You do heap harm. Stay!"
Meanwhile, Ulna had gained the upland, with his face turned toward the
sun, now flashing over the crests of the Sierra Madre Mountains.
The cruel cords had cut into his wrists and ankles, and the strained
position in which he had been held so many hours had stiffened his
limbs; but, absorbed in the battle for his own life, he forgot or did
not feel his pain.
On gaining the upland, he halted for an instant to pull his cap lower
and to tighten his belt; then, as he heard the blood-curdling yells
behind him, he started off again, running this time straight for the
mountains to the east.
He looked back for an instant, to see the four Apaches rising into view
from the rift.
He had about two hundred yards the lead, and he very wisely made up his
mind not to increase it.
As a tribe, the Utes have ever prided themselves on the speed and
endurance of their runners.
They begin to practice as children, and they are taught to stop at no
obstacle and not to vary their speed, whether facing or descending a
hill.
They keep the lips firmly closed, breathing altogether through the
nostrils, and the arms, or at least the elbows, are kept firmly pressed
to the sides, the hands being advanced at right angles to the body and
the fingers shut, like a boxer's fist.
An observer, seeing Ulna's light, springy bound and the absence of all
effort, would have been charmed with the grace of the youth's movements,
but would have felt that he was not getting over the ground very fast,
while his pursuers appeared to be flying; and they were certainly
straining every nerve.
But Ulna's feet were on his native heath, and he knew that his safety
depended on reserving his strength, rather than exhausting himself by a
mighty effort at the start.
The four runners behind him discharged their rifles, but the bullets
whistled harmlessly by his ears.
They yelled, and he heard them with a feeling of delight, for he well
knew that men cannot run fast and yell very loud at the same time.
Still the Apaches seemed to gain on him, till his lead was reduced to
not more than fifty yards, and he could hear their loud explosive
breathings behind him.
Gradually three of the young braves began to lessen their speed and drop
to the rear, while one appeared to gain at every bound on the fugitive.
After running for more than hour, Ulna threw a quick glance over his
shoulder and took in this state of affairs.
His heart bounded with delight at the prospect, but he neither increased
nor lessened his speed. His movements seemed to be as even and tireless
as the flight of the mountain eagles circling above his head.
Another half hour and he looked back again. Only one man was in sight,
and he was not more than a hundred feet away.
Quick as a flash Ulna came to a halt, wheeled and fired. The Apache
threw up his arms and fell senseless at the feet of the young Ute.
Here Ulna's training in the missionary school at Taos came into play.
His natural impulse would have led him to make sure work, and tear the
black scalp from the head of his foe, but his heart was touched with
pity rather than hate, and now that his pursuer was harmless he might
help him, if he was not fatally wounded.
He examined the Apache's wound, and found that the bullet had struck his
head without breaking his skull.
"He will come to himself after a while," said Ulna, as he drew his foe
to the shadow of a rock and placed his back against it.
But while prompted to this act of humanity, Ulna did not permit his
heart to interfere with his head. According to all the rules of
civilized warfare, the arms of an enemy belong to his conqueror, so he
took the Apache's pistol and ammunition-belt, which also contained his
long, keen scalping-knife.
These he fastened on his own person, and had scarcely finished when the
wounded brave opened his eyes and looked about him in a dazed way. As
soon as he saw Ulna he closed his eyes again and began to chant in a low
solemn voice the death-song of his tribe.
He was in the power of his foe, and as he could not give mercy himself,
for he did not know of such a thing, he expected that the Ute would put
him to death, and his song told that he was ready to meet it without
fear.
"Listen to me," said Ulna, laying his hand on the Apache's shoulder and
speaking in a firm but kindly tone. "I am a Ute, but the whites have
taught me to hate no man because of his tribe. Your life is your own;
take it and make your way back to your friends who have lagged in the
race, and tell them that the nephew of Uray does not hate nor kill the
helpless."
"But I am an Apache. I have forfeited my life. I would take yours if I
could. Why stay your hand? This is not the warfare that our fathers
practised," said the astonished Apache.
"No, nor shall I ever practice such a warfare. Yet for the life I spare
I would ask a favor."
"What is it?"
"Return to Blanco and tell him that the people now in his hands mean no
harm. Tell him that if he guides them to Hurley's Gulch he will be well
paid. Tell him that if he harms them, the whites will make war, nor stay
their hands while there is an Apache left in the Mogollon Mountains."
With the last word Ulna waved his hand to the brave and sped away again
to the eastward with the same tireless spring.
Ulna was miles away when the three Apaches, who had started out with the
wounded man, made their appearance.
"Where is the Ute?" they asked.
"Gone," was the reply.
"And your arms?"
"They are gone, too."
"Who took them?"
"The Ute."
"Why then did he not take your life and your scalp?" they asked in great
surprise.
"He stunned me with a shot which I was not expecting; but he stunned me
more when he refused the death I was expecting," said the brave.