Immediately after the harangue of Lone Wolf a general dismounting of the
warriors followed, and the mustangs, which showed admirable training,
were left to themselves. The halt had been made where there was grass
and water, to which the animals now paid their attention, while their
owners prepared for their morning meal.
There was a certain system in all this apparent confusion, and, it being
known that a halt would be made at this point, a half dozen of the most
skilful hunters of the party had scattered among the mountains in
quest of game. By the time several fires were fairly under way, these
providers began dropping in, all of them laden with spoils of the chase,
which were dressed and boiling over the different camp-fires in an
incredibly short time. The Apaches had reduced this thing to a science,
and a company of trained soldiers could not have done the thing more
expeditiously than did they.
While it was all going on, Fred Munson walked to the brook near at hand,
and taking a deep draught from the icy water, he stood somewhat apart
from the others, watching the proceedings with a strange interest.
At first he failed to understand one thing. He knew, from what he had
seen, that at least a dozen of the Apaches had been killed, and as many
wounded, on the night before during the fight. Yet not one of these was
visible, with the exception, perhaps, of Lone Wolf, whose scratches from
Sut Simpson's bullets were of a superficial nature. The only explanation
of the absence of these parties was that they had gone home. Under
the charge of a strong escort they had taken another route, and were
probably miles away at that moment, and most likely in their own
wigwams, receiving the nursing and attention required.
“I wonder whether there is any chance of my getting away?” mused the
lad, as he looked searchingly about him. “If a fellow could only get the
start, there are plenty of places where he might hide; but there's where
the trouble is.”
On the right and left of the gorge were precipitous mountains, evidently
broken by chasms, ravines, and covered with patches of wood, their
elevation being so moderate that no snow was visible upon their tops,
while the scene was wild and forbidding in the extreme.
“If I were only up there,” sighed Fred, as he looked at the mountain
side, “I could crawl into some of the places, where I'm sure they
couldn't find any signs of me.”
This might all be, provided the lad had an hour or two in which to
hunt his hiding place, but the whole difficulty lay in getting that
opportunity. It was not to be supposed that the Apaches were so stupid
as to give a young captive like him a chance to slip from their hands in
broad daylight. They were too shrewd for that and Fred felt that he must
wait for some better opportunity than the present.
The meat was prepared in short order, and then the Apaches fell-to
like so many wild beasts, using only their fingers and teeth. A large
quantity of food was provided, and the redskins were rapidly disposing
of it, when the lad saw that no one was likely to offer him any, and he
struck in and helped himself.
This morning halt of the war-party lasted about an hour, during which
Fred felt that there was little attention being paid him. Considerable
earnest talk was indulged in by the warriors, who were apparently
discussing some important plans with Lone Wolf, the whole thing
resolving itself into a sort of council of war. When they leaped
upon the backs of their mustangs, the decision had been made, and
preparations made for carrying it out without delay.
The whole party started up the gorge, Fred riding again with the Apache
Apollo, Waukko, while Lone Wolf kept himself at the head of the force.
“I thought he would be mad enough to kill me,” mused the boy, as he
caught sight of the notorious chief, “for the reason that I gave him
such a scare night before last. It can't be that he has forgotten it
or that he doesn't know who I am; but maybe he is going to do something
dreadful to me after he gets me home.”
What the real purpose of Lone Wolf was could only be conjectured; but
there was reason to believe that he meant to hold his prisoner for
a ransom, as the aboriginal scamp was very partial to that kind of
business. By carrying the lad back among the mountains, he could hold
him against the army of the United States, utterly refusing to yield him
up until he should receive his price.
The mustangs galloped along at an easy gait, for a mile or so, when
the canon, or gorge, divided in a manner precisely like that which is
frequently observed in the highways or streets of a city. Lone Wolf
instantly turned the head of his mustang to the left, and, without
checking him in the least, continued at a sweeping gallop in that
direction, followed by all of his warriors, save three.
These were Waukko and two companions scarcely less repulsive in
appearance, who wheeled their steeds to the right. Without any exchange
of word or signal, they sped down the ravine and in less than a minute
the two parties were lost to sight of each other.
What this meant was a mystery as baffling as the other, but Fred
concluded that Lone Wolf had gone in quest of some other party of his
warriors, and had sent Waukko and his two companions as an escort to
conduct him to some place where he would be beyond all danger of
rescue. The shrewd Apache chief, in doing this, only acted with ordinary
discretion.
He knew Sut Simpson through and through, and had not a particle of doubt
that the hunter was already on their track, and that he would use every
exertion to recover the lad. Hence the most important thing to do was to
get forward without any loss of time. He had a full night's start of the
scout, who could only press his pursuit by daylight, when the trail was
visible, and there was no reason why the three men who had the lad in
charge should allow the fleetest-footed mustang to catch up with them.
Fred, as may be supposed, was gratified to find his companions so
suddenly and greatly reduced in number, for it seemed to him at once
that his chances of escape were increased tenfold. It simplified
matters. It did not occur to him that three vigilant Indians were as
effective as three hundred, and that in a certain sense his prospect of
deliverance was diminished rather than increased. He was a boy and as
hopeful as his years.
The day remained sunshiny and pleasant, and the easy canter of the
mustangs caused just enough breeze to make the riding delightful. Fred
felt an unconquerable aversion to the Apache Waukko, whose horrible face
and appearance caused him more than once to half suspect that he was a
ghoul or demon. He again made an attempt to open communication with him,
but he uttered a sort of grunt that Fred took as a command for silence,
and he resolved that he would die before he would repeat the attempt.
The gorge continued its winding course among the mountains, some of the
turns being at very sharp angles. The width of the ravine varied from
fifty to five hundred feet, the walls on either side showing about the
same difference of altitude. At times they were perpendicular, and then
again sloped at such a moderate angle that a horse could have galloped
up them without difficulty.
The mountainous nature of the country rather increased than diminished,
and, looking right and left, in front and rear, the jagged peaks were
forever visible, the distances varying, but the number greater and
greater. At times it seemed as if the ravine were about to terminate
suddenly against the solid wall of the mountain, but, as they rode
forward, the open way was there, albeit the angle was sharp, and the
little party suffered no interruption of progress until near the close
of the day.
The noon halt which Fred expected was not made.
He was hungry and supposed that the Apaches were; but, if so, they
manifestly considered it of more importance to get forward than to
satisfy that hunger. Once or twice they permitted their horses to drink
from the water when it was reached, but these momentary halts were all
that were made.
It was near the middle of the afternoon, when Waukko, who was the leader
of the little group, suddenly showed great excitement, which speedily
communicated itself to his companions. All three of these scamps were
sullen and reticent, frequently riding for hours at a time without
exchanging a word, so that this excitement meant something. The three
halted simultaneously, and talked loudly and excitedly, so that Fred
suspected that some cause for a quarrel had abruptly sprung upon them.
“I wonder if they're wrangling about _me_?” was the thought that came
to the lad, who immediately recalled the fate of Miss MacCrea during the
Revolution, when the two Indians conducting her to Fort Edward settled a
quarrel over her by sinking a tomahawk in her brain.
If the present excitement could be quelled only by such a remedy, he
preferred that it should go on. Otherwise, if there was a prospect of
their settling it by falling upon each other, he was in hope of seeing
it intensified. It looked as if a deadly fight were impending, when he
was tossed to the ground, and the three Apaches instantly dropped to the
earth and faced each other.