A DARING EXPLOIT.
A veteran Comanche warrior could not have advanced with greater skill than
did young Munson approach the unconscious Apache. The warriors who had
taken this little business in hand seemed to have cleared away the
treacherous ground surrounding the opening, so that it was not likely to
give way beneath their weight, even when they advanced close to the edge.
The single redskin who remained seemed to have shifted his position more
for the purpose of relieving himself from his cramped posture than
anything else.
He was standing erect, about a foot away from the edge, with the lasso in
both hands, looking down into the cavern of gloom below, listening and
watching, with the sense of touch also on the alert. His blanket and rifle
lay at one side, out of the way, but where they could be reached at a
single leap, if necessary. The end of the lasso was still fastened to the
rock, but the savage held it loosely, so that the slightest twitch upon it
would become known to him on the instant.
It is not often that an Indian can be taken off the guard. Years of danger
have made the senses of the savages preternaturally acute, and they are as
distant as the timid antelope of the plains. But, for all that, there was
a boy within a dozen yards of a swarthy warrior whose senses were on the
alert, and yet had failed to detect his proximity.
Fred gazed upon him with the fixed intensity of the jungle tiger stealing
upon his prey. With his right hand resting upon the hilt of his revolver,
he never removed his eyes from the muscular figure of the Apache, bending
over the entrance to the cavern.
"Shall I shoot, or push him over?"
[Illustration: "SHALL I SHOOT OR PUSH HIM OVER?"]
This was the question the lad kept revolving in his mind, as he advanced
step by step. With the pistol he could bury two or three balls in the body
of the redskin before he could suspect where they came from, and thus
completely clear the path before him. But there were doubts in the way.
The revolver might miss fire, in which case all hope would be gone. In a
hand-to-hand tussle the Apache would be more than a match for a dozen such
lads. True, the weapon had not failed when he pulled the trigger in the
cave, but there was no certainty that it would not do so when he most
needed it.
Then, too, he felt a natural repugnance against stealing upon a foe in
this fashion, and shooting him in the back. It had a cowardly look, even
when certain that the threatened party would have done precisely the same
thing, had the opportunity come in his way.
"I will push him over, if he don't make me shoot him."
But to do this necessitated a much closer approach. He must literally be
within "striking distance." Could he place himself there without
discovery? If the redskin were asleep, or if his mind was occupied with
something of a different nature, or if there were some extraneous noise,
the case would be different. The blowing of the wind, the murmur of a
waterfall (such as Fred had heard when lying upon the ground in the same
spot) would have been a most fortunate diversion. But there was nothing of
the kind. There was a dead calm, not a breath of air stirring, and the day
was hot.
Fred had approached within twenty feet, and still the Apache did not stir.
How vivid and indelibly his appearance was impressed upon the vision of
the boy! He could never forget it. The redskin, although of powerful
build, was anything but pleasing in appearance, even when viewed from the
rear.
His blanket being thrown aside, he was naked, with the exception of a
breech-cloth. His feet were of large size, encased in shabby moccasins,
while frowsy leggins dangled between the knee and ankle. His body, from
the breech-cloth to the shoulders, was splashed and daubed with a half
dozen kinds of paint, while his black, thin hair straggled about his
shoulders and was smeared in the same fashion. Like most of the Indians of
the Southwest, he wore no scalp-lock, but allowed his hair to hang like a
woman's, not even permitting it to be gathered with a band, nor
ornamenting it with the customary stained eagle-feathers. His arms were
also bare, with the exception of the wrists, around which were tied
bracelets, which, no doubt, he considered very attractive. The boy could
fancy what a repulsive face he possessed.
Step by step, inch by inch, the young hero made his way, his eyes fixed
upon the savage with a burning intensity, until it seemed that he would
burn him through and through. And the Apache heard him not, although they
were no more than ten feet apart.
"He will hear the thumping of my heart," was the constant fear of the boy.
Slowly lifting one foot, he put in on the ground as softly as if it were
held in a slipper of eiderdown. He was treading upon a thin growth of
grass, interspersed plentifully with gravel, but he never once looked to
see what he was stepping upon. Indeed, he could not remove his eyes from
the one central figure of his thoughts and vision.
One obstruction, no matter how slight--the turning of a pebble, a slip,
even the most trivial, and the Apache would turn like lightning, and be
upon him in a flash. Two more steps were taken, and only eight feet
separated the lad and the Indian, and still the latter remained all
unconscious of what was going on. Fred's heart was throbbing violently,
but he retained control of himself. He felt that the critical moment was
close at hand. A slight advance more, and the attempt was to be made.
He grasped the handle of the revolver more firmly than ever, but he raised
his foot for another step, feeling that the distance was still too great.
At this juncture the Indian moved!
He stepped one pace backward directly toward the boy, and he looked up and
away. But not behind him. The glance was a mere casual one. He had heard
nothing, and he expected to see nothing, when he looked off in the manner
mentioned.
The Apache remained standing in this attitude for a minute. Then he
stepped forward and resumed his former position on the edge of the
opening, still clinging to the lasso, as if in constant expectation of
some signal.
During this little episode Fred remained as motionless as if cast in
bronze. His eyes were still centred upon the Indian, and he partially drew
his revolver from the girdle he wore about his body, with the expectation
of using it. But when his foe gave his attention to the cave below, the
lad softly shoved the weapon back in its place, and again raised his foot.
The movement was slow and painful, but it was accomplished successfully.
Only a single step more remained to place him where he wanted to be. That
taken, and one bound was all that he needed to make. Finally, and for the
last time during the advance, the right foot ascended from the ground, was
poised for a few seconds in the air, and then came down with the same care
as before. But it touched a loose pebble which turned with the lightest
imaginable noise.
As quick as a flash the Apache raised his head, looked in front, and then
darted his vision from left to right, when his keen eyes detected
something crouching behind him.
At the very instant of the discovery, Fred concentrated all his energies
in one effort, and bounded forward like a catapult. The distance was
precisely what it should have been, and, as he threw out his hands, he
struck the Indian squarely in the back with the whole momentum of the
body. In fact, the daring boy nearly overdid the matter. He not only came
near driving the Apache to the other side of the opening, but he came
equally near plunging himself down it. As it was, the victim, taken
completely off his guard, was thrown against the other side, where his
wonderful dexterity enabled him to throw out his hands and check his
downward descent.
Fred, after his narrow escape from going down into the cave, scrambled
back to his place, and saw the Indian struggling upon the opposite side,
with a good prospect of saving himself. "That won't do," was his thought,
as he ran round the opening so as to bring himself directly before him. "I
don't want you up here."
Thrusting his pistol almost against his painted forehead, he fairly
shouted:
"Get down--let go, or I'll shoot!"
Whether the Apache possessed much knowledge of the English tongue can only
be conjectured, but the gestures accompanying the command were so
expressive that he could not fail to take in the whole meaning. The
Indian, no doubt, considered it preferable to drop down into the pit
rather than run against the bullet. At any rate, he released his hold, and
down he went.
As he drooped into the gloom he made a clutch at the lasso, doubtless for
the purpose of creeping up unawares upon the lad, who, by a strange
providence, had so suddenly become his master. But the Indian, although a
pretty good athlete, had not practiced that sort of thing, and he failed
altogether, going down to join his comrades much the same as if he had
dropped from a balloon.
Fred proved himself equal to the emergency. The moment he saw that he was
relieved from the presence of his enemy, he darted back to the other side
of the opening, caught hold of the lasso, and hurriedly drew it up out of
reach of those below.
"There! they can't come crawling up that when I ain't thinking," he said,
when the end of the thong was in his hand.
He coiled the whole thing up at his feet, and then, with a feeling of
relief and pleasure which cannot be described, he looked about to see
whether he was alone. Alone he was, and master of the situation. Where
there had been six daring Apache warriors a half-hour before, not one was
now visible. All were in the cave. Five had gone willingly, while it
looked very much as if the sixth had not been so willing. At any rate,
they were all beyond the power of injuring Fred Munson, who, after
considering over the matter, concluded that he had done a pretty good
thing.