We wheeled about to see a foolish-faced man, with shifty eyes and
slavering mouth, standing by, with firm enough legs, to be sure, but his
body swaying left and right from the hips as though it were set there on
a swivel.
"Yes," said Apache.
"Going prospectin' without a pick or a hammer or a shu-huvel," said the
man, and hiccoughed and dribbled again at the mouth, and then he sat
down on a tree-stump and broke out in a horrible drunken weeping, the
most distressful kind of intoxicated fool I ever saw, and moaned to
himself: "Goin' prospectin' without a--with on'y a gun at the belt and a
Winchester," and he put his hand to his forehead and, bending forward,
wept copiously. I looked on the Chinaman who stood by, placid and
expressionless, and I was ashamed of my race.
"For the love of God," said Apache, "let us get out of this pitiful
hell-- Good-bye, John," to the Chinaman, who raised his lean hand and
waved in farewell in a gesture of the utmost suavity and respect, and
then we struck south (the Chinaman entering his store), and left that
pitiable creature slobbering upon the tree-stump, left the din and
outcrying and hideousness behind us, my very stomach turning at the
sounds, and Apache, too, I think, affected unpleasantly. We went
directly to the south upon the track that led to the Placer Camp on
Kettle River.
On either side of us the forest thinned out there, but the place was
full of a wavering light, for the tree-stumps to left and right of the
track were all smouldering with little, flickering blue flames, and
sending up a white smoke, for this is the manner of clearing the forest
after the trees are felled.
Through this place of flickering lights and waving shadows we still
progressed, leading our horses. Here Apache Kid looked round sharply,
and at the moment I heard a sound as of a twig snapping, but from what
quarter the sound came I could not tell. We were both then looking back,
half expecting to see some one issue forth behind us into the light of
that space where the tree-stumps spluttered and flared and smoked.
"Perhaps it was just one of these stumps crackling," said I.
"It did n't sound just like that; however, I suppose that was all,"
Apache Kid replied. "Well this is our route now." And we struck west
through the timber, back in the direction that Baker City lay, keeping
in a line parallel to the waggon road. And ever and again as we went
Apache emitted a low, long whistle and hearkened and whistled again, and
hearkened and seemed annoyed at the silence alone replying.
Then, coming to the end of the place of smouldering stumps, we struck
back as though to come out on the waggon road before its entering into
Camp Kettle. "Where in thunder is Donoghue?" snapped Apache Kid, and
suddenly the horse I was leading swung back with a flinging up of its
head. Apache Kid was leading the other two and they also began a great
dancing and snorting.
"We have you covered!" cried a harsh voice. "No tricks now! Just you
keep holt of them reins. If you let 'em drop, your name is Dennis! That
'll be something to occupy your hands."
I think the voice quieted the horses, if it perturbed us, for they
became tractable on the instant and ceased their trembling and waltzing.
And there, risen out of a bush before us, stood two men, one with a
Winchester at the ready and the other with his left hand raised, the
open palm facing us, and a revolver looking at me over that, his "gun
hand" being steadied on the left wrist.
I had seen Apache Kid in a somewhat similar predicament before, but his
coolness again amazed me. And, if I may be permitted to say so, I
astonished myself likewise, for after the first leap of the heart I
stood quite easy, holding my horse--more like an onlooker than a
participant in this unchancy occurrence.
"I think you have made a mistake, gentlemen," said Apache Kid.
"Oh, no mistake at all," said he with the Winchester. "I 've just come
out to make you an offer, Apache Kid."
"You have my name," said Apache Kid, "but I have n't the pleasure of
yours."
"Why," said I, "I 've seen that man at the Laughlin House;" and at the
same moment Apache Kid recognised the other in a sudden flickering up of
one of the nighest stumps.
"Why, it's my old inquisitive friend--the hog," said he, looking on him.
"Where did you learn that theatrical style of holding up a gun to a man?
Won't you introduce your friend?"
"That's all right," said the other. "I want you to listen to me.
Here's what we are offering you. You can either come right along with
us to Camp Kettle and draw out a sketch plan of where the Lost Cabin
Mine lies, or else----" he raised his Winchester.
Apache Kid whistled softly.
"How would it suit you," said he, after what seemed a pause for
considering the situation into which we had fallen, "if I drew up the
sketch after you plugged me with the Winchester?"
"O!" cried the man. "The loss of a fortune's on the one hand. The loss
o' your life's on the other. We give you the choice."
"It seems to me," said Apache Kid, "that your hand is the weaker in this
game; for on your side is the loss of a fortune or the taking of a
life."
"I 'd call that the stronger hand, I guess," said the man.
"Well, all a matter of the point of view," murmured Apache Kid, with an
appearance of great ease. "But presuming that I am aware of the
location of that place, what assurance could I have that once you had
the sketch in your hands you would n't slip my wind--in the language of
the country?"
He with the revolver, I noticed, glanced a moment at his partner at
that, but quickly turned his attention to us again. "Besides, I might
draw up a fake map and send you off on a wild goose chase," said Apache
Kid, as though with a sudden inspiration.
"We've thought of that," said he with the Winchester, "and you 'd just
wait with a friend of ours while we went to make sure o' the genewinness
o' your plan."
"Oh! That's what I'd do?" said Apache Kid, and stood cheeping with his
lips a little space and staring before him. Then turning to me, "I 'm
up against it now," he said, "in the language of the country. The terms
are all being made for me and at this rate----" he swung round again to
these two--"you really mean that you are so bent on this that if I did
n't speak up, did n't give you the information you wanted,
you'd--eh--kill me--kill the goose with the golden eggs?"
I marked a change in the tone of Apache's voice, and looking at him
noticed that there was a glitter in his eye and his breath was coming
through his nostrils in fierce gusts, and under his breath he muttered:
"The damned fools! I could keep them blithering here till morning!"
"We might find other means to get the right of it out of you," said the
man with the Winchester. "I 've seen a bit of the Indians from whom you
take your name, and I reckon some of their tricks would bring you to
reason."
"What!" cried Apache Kid. "You'd threaten that, would you? You'd
insult me--coming out with a hog like that to hold me up, too," and he
pointed at the man with the revolver.
"Come! Come!" cried he of the Winchester, "easy wi' that hand. If you
don't come to a decision before I count three, you 're a dead man. I 'll
run chances on finding the Lost Cabin Mine myself. Come now, what are
you going to do? One----"
"Excuse me interrupting," said Apache Kid, "but are you aware that the
gentleman you have brought with you there is an incompetent?"
"Haow?" said the Winchester man. "What you mean?"
"That!" said Apache Kid, and, leaping back and wheeling his horse
between the Winchester and himself, he had plucked forth his revolver
and-- But another crack--the crack of a rifle--rang out in the forest.
I am not certain which was first, but there, before my eyes, the two
men, who had a moment earlier stood exulting over us, sank to the earth,
he with the revolver falling second, so that as he sagged down I heard
the breath of life, one might have thought, belch out of him. It was
really the gasp, I suppose, when the bullet struck him, but it was the
most helpless sound I ever heard in my life--something like the quack of
a duck. Sorry am I that ever I heard that sound, for it, I believe,
more than the occurrence of that night itself, seemed to sadden me, give
me a drearier outlook on life. I wonder if I express myself clearly? I
wonder if you understand what I felt in my heart at that sound? Had he
died with a scream, I think I should have been less haunted by his end.
If our horses shied at the smell of men whom they could not see, they
were evidently well enough accustomed to the snap of firearms, for
beyond a quick snort they paid no heed. As for me, I found then that I
had been a deal more upset by this meeting than I had permitted myself
to believe; and my nerves must have been terribly strung, for no sooner
had they fallen than I shuddered throughout my body, so that I must have
looked like one suffering from St. Vitus dance.
Apache Kid looked at me with a queer, pained expression on his face,
scrutinising me keenly and quickly and then looking away. And into the
wavering light of the burning stumps came Donoghue, with his rifle lying
in the crook of his arm, right up to us and began speaking. No, I
cannot call it speaking. There was no word intelligible. His eyes were
the eyes of a sober man, but when he spoke to us not a word could we
distinguish, and he seemed aware of that himself, spluttering painfully
and putting his hand to his mouth now and again, as with a sort of anger
at himself and his condition. Then suddenly, as though remembering
something, away he went through the timber the way he had come.
"Fancy being killed by that!" said Apache Kid, wetting his lips with his
tongue, and a sick look on his face.
"What's wrong with him?" said I.
"Drunk," said he, and never a word more. But he followed Donoghue, to
where stood a horse, the reins hitched to a tree.
"That's a tough looking mount he's got," said Apache Kid, and then, like
an afterthought: "Try to forget about those two fellows lying there," he
added to me.