“We might as well tell ’em about it, Hank,” he said. “They’ve got to
know it sooner or later. Tain’t safe to get out of this place now.
Besides, your horse is used up.”
I glanced in the direction indicated, and saw a horse covered in
lather, with drooping head and general dejected appearance. I knew he
must have had fearful riding to be in this condition.
“Well, you tell ’em, Jim,” replied Hank. “I reckon we’re here, all of
us, to stay awhile.”
“I can’t afford to remain, Mr. Smith,” I said, thinking that the
wrecked wagon might be the reason for the conversation. “If the outfit
will hold together I think we had better go on as soon as possible.”
Smith looked at me with pitying eyes.
“You may never leave this place at all,” he returned, gravely. “This
young man is the only survivor of a massacre, about ten miles from
here. ‘Apache Kid’ and his band are, perhaps, at this very moment close
to our gates.”
Instinctively I glanced at the gates, and noticed for the first time
that heavy timbers were propped against them.
“Not only that, but McGill has disappeared,” continued Smith. “I think
he may have gone in search of his pipe. We dare not risk going outside
the enclosure, and he must get back as best he can.”
Just then the others of our party and Mrs. Smith, with the babe in her
arms, joined us, having begun to realize that something was amiss.
Then Jim began to organize his forces. First he took an inventory of
the available arms and ammunition, calling on our party to exhibit such
weapons as we had about us.
Next Jim brought out a number of guns. There were three excellent
repeating rifles, with several hundred rounds of ammunition, and an
old shot-gun, which proved of no value. Next came Jim’s own pet--a
beautiful double-barrelled shot-gun. With these were several boxes
of ammunition. Last came a motley array of “six-shooters,” a part of
which were serviceable and for which there was a limited amount of
ammunition. Two hand-axes and a small affair for chopping firewood were
counted as weapons for close quarters.
The whole lot was delivered into the care of Mrs. Smith, who was
instructed to load the guns and arrange the ammunition conveniently on
a table brought from the house.
At odd moments the good woman was assembling quantities of food, so
that, in case of an attack, prolonged or otherwise, we might have her
services at the ammunition.
Meanwhile Hank had been sent to the top of the house, which had a
low, flat roof, where he was keeping close watch with a pair of
field-glasses. He called to Jim that he believed he had discovered
McGill in the topmost branches of a tree, a long distance up the
canyon. It appeared that he was making signals, for we soon discovered
that he occasionally waved a white handkerchief, and he appeared to be
trying to draw our attention to something to the south.
Presently Hank reported that McGill was climbing down the tree, and in
a moment he was running down the road towards the house as fast as his
long legs would carry him. Jim prepared to open one of the gates.
Just then a shot rang out, followed by others. We could hear McGill
coming full tilt. Jim opened the gate a little way and reported that a
band of Indians were in close pursuit of the Scotsman.
A moment later, breathless and exhausted, McGill flung himself through
the open gate, which was speedily secured behind him.
As quickly as possible Jim ran a rough wagon out of a shed and placed
it alongside of the wall. It was evident now why this latter had been
built high and strong; the reason for placing the wagon beside it,
however, was not yet evident to us.
Soon we heard the rush of a score of Indian horses, the whoops and
yells of their savage riders, and the crack of their rifles.
Their shots did no damage, however, but were sufficiently accurate to
cause Hank to dodge behind the stone chimney, whence he dropped over
the edge to the ground.
There was a savage onslaught upon the immense heavy gates, but they
held firm, being well braced by the timbers. So far not a sound had
escaped us, and it was evident that the Indians were chagrined that
they had not made a greater impression.
For a few moments we could hear them in consultation before the gates,
and presently a voice called out in broken English.
To this no reply was made, nor was any evidence of life vouchsafed from
our side.
“Now, boys,” whispered Jim, “get ready. They’re going to show their
heads in a minute--just over there, near the wagon. That is the easiest
place for them to look over, and I have tried to make it look more
inviting. So look alive and each pick his game. Don’t miss, or there’ll
be trouble.”
Next moment five ugly Apache heads bobbed up over the wall
simultaneously. They were evidently so sure that the place was
unprotected that four of them, in their enthusiasm, clambered half-way
on top of the wall before they became aware of the reception that had
been planned for them.
The volley that followed their appearance was almost like one shot,
and the four most daring red-skins received the bullets intended for
them. Two were killed instantly, and partly hung over the wall as they
doubled up; two others, mortally wounded, slid off the wall and were
dragged away by their companions. The less venturesome got away with a
whole skin.
With our volley pandemonium seemed to break loose; the red-skins let
out a yell that fairly chilled us to the bone. Jim called us to seek
shelter at the rear of the house.
We were none too soon, for a terrific fire was poured into the
enclosure by the Indians, who were taking haphazard shots towards us,
without putting their heads into jeopardy.
[Illustration: “THE VOLLEY FOLLOWING THEIR APPEARANCE WAS ALMOST LIKE
ONE SHOT.”]
Presently we discovered that one lot of the savages were trying to
burrow under the gates, and were indeed making some headway. Jim seemed
to be everywhere at once, using his shot-gun as his sole means of
defence. The moment a hand was seen in the growing excavation under
the gate he let drive with his shot-gun, and another Indian was out of
commission.
I remember I kept a sort of mental tally of the fallen. Hank had told
me that there were about twenty-three in the band, so I calculated:
“Four dead on the first attack on the wall; one shot through the hand,
under the gate. Balance to their credit--eighteen.”
Just then we received an unexpected shock. We saw a curl of smoke
rising above the gates; the savages were piling brush against them, to
which they had already set fire. This was a serious matter, which even
Jim had not calculated upon. He ordered us to lie low while he took a
look round.
I was so interested to know what he would do that I could not resist
the temptation to put my head around the corner of the house, and this
is what I saw.
Jim crept on hands and knees towards the wagon which we had placed
against the wall. In a moment he had reached it, shot-gun in hand, and
silently and slowly raised himself into it, gradually straightening out
with his head and arms just above the wall. Then, quick as a flash, he
took aim. There was a crash--or rather a double crash, for he had fired
both barrels--an awful yell from the Indians, and he was speeding back
to safety.
[Illustration: “I FELT MYSELF BEING DRAGGED OVER.”]
One savage, braver than the rest, took a quick shot at him. The bullet
did no harm to Jim, but came near being fatal to me, for I had been
so intent on watching him that I now found that I had unconsciously
stepped into the open.
Instead of bolting for shelter, I had but one thing in mind--to check
up the account and see how many “good” Indians there were and how many
bad ones.
Consequently, in a moment--foolhardy as it may seem--I was on the
wagon, peering over the wall, taking account of the dead and wounded at
the gates.
Although Jim’s shot-gun had done fearful execution, there were but two
who appeared to be actually dead.
Just then something struck me in the face, a hand grasped me from
over the wall, and I felt myself being dragged over, into the arms of
the “Apache Kid” himself! Several other savages were running to his
assistance. All that I can recall is that I thought my last hour had
come, and struck out blindly with my fists, clinging, as best I could,
to the wall with my legs.
I am not an experienced boxer, but I had the advantage over my
assailant, for I was uppermost.
Things seemed to be going badly with me, however, for I felt my hold on
the wall gradually weakening.
Just at that instant I heard a rush behind me. I was so done up that I
could only think of more Indians, but in reality it was Levy, Hank, and
Jim coming to the rescue.
I was grasped from behind and felt that I should be pulled to pieces.
I let out with my fists with renewed vigour, and landed such a fierce
tattoo on the face of my captor that he involuntarily sought to protect
his face with his hands, whereupon Levy, Hank, Jim, and I fell into a
confused heap over the side of the wagon.
It was a few minutes before they restored me to my senses, and I found
myself with clothing half torn off, covered with dust, and generally
bruised.