Fred's few weeks spent in crossing the plains on his way to the valley
of the Rio Pecos had taught him much of the ways of the Indians, and he
knew that if any of the scamps were in his immediate neighborhood, it
would be almost impossible for him to stir from his position by the tree
without betraying himself. The lad half suspected that the sound was
made by some wild animal that was stealing through the wood, or what was
more likely, that it was no more than a falling leaf; but, whatever
it was, he was determined to learn if the thing were among the
possibilities.
A veteran Comanche, himself, could not have picked his way through the
undergrowth any better than did he; and, when at last he stood upon the
edge of the open space and looked around, he was morally certain that no
other creature was aware of his movement. Nor was he aware of the action
of the other party, if there was really such a one, which had been the
means of bringing him thither. If some wild animal or wild Indian were
lurking in the vicinity, he knew how to remain invisible.
“I'll stay here a little while--”
Fred at that moment was looking at the cottonwood tree, which, it will
be remembered, had been felled directly across the opening, when, to his
speechless terror, the figure of an Indian warrior suddenly rose
upright from behind it, and stood as motionless as a statue. His action
indicated that he was not aware that any one was standing so near him.
He had probably crept up to the log behind which he crouched, until,
believing he was not in danger of being seen, he arose to his feet and
assumed the attitude of one who was using his eyes and ears to their
utmost extent.
He was of ordinary stature, without any blanket, his long, black
hair hanging loosely down upon his shoulders, his scarred and ugly
countenance daubed and smeared with different colored paint, his chest
bare, and ornamented in the same fashion, a knife at his girdle, and
a long, formidable rifle in his hand--such were the noticeable
characteristics, to a superficial observer, of Lone Wolf, the Apache
chief--for the Indian confronting Fred Munson was really he, and no one
else.
The lad suspected the identity of the red-skin, although, having
never seen him, it amounted only to a suspicion. No matter who he was,
however, he was prepared for him.
The Apache showed his usual cunning. He was evidently attempting to
steal upon the sentinels, and, having risen to his feet, he remained
motionless and upright, listening for any sign that might betray any
motion of the individuals whom he was seeking to slay, as does the
assassin at night.
“He must have been after _me_, for he is right behind where I stood,”
thought the boy, as he grasped his rifle more firmly than ever, resolved
to fire upon the wretch the moment he attempted to advance.
Lone Wolf stood but a minute in the position described, when, seemingly,
he was satisfied that the way was clear, and, throwing one moccasin on
the trunk, he climbed over as silently as a shadow, and stood again holt
upright upon the other side. This brought the Indian and boy within ten
feet of each other, and still the advantage was all upon the side of the
latter, who stood in such deep shadow that he was not only invisible,
but his presence was unsuspected.
The Indian was not gazing in the direction of the lad, but seemed
to turn his attention more to the left, toward the spot where Mickey
O'Rooney, the Irishman, was stationed. In ignoring the proximity of a
boy, it cannot be said that he acted unreasonably.
Lone Wolf remained like a carven statue for a few seconds longer, and
then began a cautious movement forward. In the moonlight, Fred could
observe the motion of the foot, and the gradual advance of the body.
He felt that it would not do to defer any longer his intention of
obstructing him. If permitted to go on in this manner, he might kill
Mickey O'Rooney, and bring down a whole host of red-skins upon the
sleeping settlers, cutting them off to a man.
Fred had his rifle to his shoulder, and pointed toward the Indian.
Suddenly stepping forward, he placed himself in the moonlight, and, with
the muzzle of his piece almost at the breast of the chief, he said:
“Another step forward, and I'll bore you through!”
The lad did not stop to consider whether it was likely that the Indian
understood the English tongue; but, as it happened, Lone Wolf could
use it almost as if to the manner born; and it would have required
no profound linguistic knowledge upon the part of anyone to have
comprehended the meaning of the young hero. It was one of those
situations in which gesture told the meaning more plainly than mere
words could have done. But if ever there was an astonished aborigine,
Lone Wolf was the same.
It was not often that such a wily warrior as he was caught napping, but
he was completely outwitted on the present occasion. When he saw the
muzzle of the rifle pointed straight at his breast, he knew what it
meant, even though the weapon was in the hands of a boy. It meant that
any attempt on his part to raise his gun or draw his tomahawk or knife,
would be met by the discharge of the threatening weapon, and his own
passage from time into eternity. So he stared at the lad a moment, and
then demanded in good English:
“What does my brother want?”
“I want you to leave, just as quickly as you know how, and never show
yourself here again.”
“Lone Wolf's wigwam is many miles away,” supplied the Indian, pointing
northward, “and he is on his way there now.”
Fred started a little at this terrible chieftain's name; but he held
his gun pointed steadily towards him, determined to fire the instant
he attempted the least hostile movement, for his own salvation depended
upon such a prompt check-mating of his enemy.
An Indian is always ready to make the best of his situation, and Lone
Wolf saw that he was fairly caught. Still, he acted cautiously, in the
hope of throwing the young hero off his guard, so as to permit him to
crush him as suddenly as if by a panther's spring.
“If your wigwam is there, it is time you were home,” said Fred. “We are
on the lookout for such customers as you, and if any of the others see
you they won't let you off so easy as I do. So the best thing is for you
to leave.”
Lone Wolf made no direct reply to this, except to take a step toward the
side of the lad, as if it were involuntary, and intended to further the
convenience of conversation; but Fred suspected his purpose, and warned
him back.
“Lone Wolf, if you want to carry your life away with you, you will go at
once. I do n't want to shoot you, but if you come any nearer or wait
any longer, I'll fire. I'm tired of holding this gun, and it may go off
itself.”
The Apache chief made no answer, but, with his eyes fixed upon the
lad, took a step backward, as an earnest of his intention of obeying.
Reaching the log, he hastily clambered over it and speedily vanished
like a phantom in the gloom of the wood beyond, leaving the boy master
of the field.