FRIEND OR ENEMY?
It can scarcely be said that either of the fugitives had any definite hope
of escape, for neither was able to see how the thing was possible. Mickey
knew that occasionally, in the affairs of the world, seemingly
providential interferences had occurred, but he looked for nothing of the
kind. He considered that there would be a siege, lasting perhaps several
days, then a desperate hand-to-hand struggle, and then.
The summary manner in which the Irishman disposed of the first Apache who
showed himself brought matters to a standstill. In this condition they
probably would have remained but for the Irishman himself, who saw nothing
to be gained by inaction. Turning his head, he whispered to Fred:
"Do ye kape quiet, me laddy, till my return. I am going to take a look
around."
The boy offered no objection, for he knew it would not be heeded, and
Mickey moved away. It required the greatest care to pick his way down the
fissure, as the stones and gravel were liable to turn under his feet and
betray his approach, and it was much easier to go forward than backward.
The fissure which had afforded this temporary refuge was about fifty feet
in length, and the vegetation was so thick that at almost any portion the
view was no greater than three or four yards. Mickey was in constant
expectation of encountering some of the Apaches at every step he took,
and, in accordance with his principle of hitting a head wherever he saw
it, he held his rifle so as to fire on the very instant the coppery face
presented itself to view. But he saw none, and as he advanced he began to
believe that the place was entirely free of the Apaches, who, if prudent,
would quietly wait on the outside until their prey dropped into their
hands.
It was not to be supposed that they would leave any opening on the outside
by which the most forlorn chance could be obtained, and Mickey had no
thought of any such thing. If he had, it would have been dissipated by the
evidence of his own ears. He could hear distinctly their peculiar grunting
voices, the tramp of their mustangs, and the evidence which a score of
Indian warriors might be expected to give of their presence, when they had
no reason for concealment.
"It may be that the spalpeens mean to make a rush upon me," he muttered,
as he halted near the end of the fissure, "in which case I shall have a
delightful employment in cracking their pates as they come up and take
their turn."
He remained where he was a few minutes longer, and, seeing no prospect of
learning anything additional, he resumed his advance until he reached a
point where it was only necessary to draw the branches slightly apart to
gain a view of the main ravine. And this he proceeded to do in the
gentlest and most cautious manner possible.
The view was satisfactory, as it showed him that the Apaches were gathered
at the entrance to the fissure and were taking matters very coolly and
philosophically. Several were on horses, and a number on foot. Among the
mustangs moving about, the Irishman recognized his own, astride of which
was a dirty-looking Apache, with a wide mouth and broken nose.
"Ye ould spalpeen," muttered the indignant Irishman, "if it wasn't for
fear of spoiling your wonderful booty, I'd turn you somersets off that
hoss of mine, which I shall have to whitewash after getting him back, on
account of your contact wid the same."
Mickey was strongly tempted to send a bullet after the tantalizing
horse-thief, but he thought he could wait awhile. He was extremely
cautious in making his stealthy view, only moving enough leaves to permit
the service of his eyes and he had not enjoyed this prospect long before
he believed that he had been detected.
Of the twenty-odd members comprising the Apache party, about a dozen were
constantly in view, the others being too far to the right or left to be
seen. The group was an irregular and straggling one, the most interesting
portion being five or six, who stood close together, exactly at the base
of the fissure, talking with each other. It was impossible that there
should be more than one subject of discussion; and the dispute, as Mickey
suspected, was as to the precise method of disposing of the job which had
been placed in their hands.
Some, evidently, favored a daring charge directly up the narrow ravine,
with its short, fierce encounter and sure victory. Others had a different
plan, and their gestures led the eavesdropper to suspect that they
advocated reaching them from the roof, while it was apparent that there
were those who insisted upon waiting until the fruit should become ripe
enough to fall into their laps without shaking. There could be little
doubt that the Apaches preferred to take both prisoners, instead of
shooting or tomahawking them in a fight. They were under the inspiration
of Lone Wolf, who believed that a live man was much more valuable than a
dead one.
While Mickey was watching this group with an interest which may be
imagined, he noticed that a short, thick, greasy, filthy warrior was
looking directly toward him, with a steadiness which caused the Irishman
to suspect that his presence was known. The Indian, like all of them, was
as homely as he could be. He, too, had gone through an attack of smallpox,
which had left his broad face so deeply pitted that it could be noticed
through the vari-colored paint which was daubed thereon. There was
scarcely any forehead, the black, piercing eyes were far apart, and when
Mickey saw them turned toward him, he felt anything but comfortable under
their fire.
"I wonder whether he would keep mum if I should tip him the wink?" thought
Mickey, who suffered the leaves in front of his face to close until there
was just the smallest space through which he could watch his man.
The latter acted very much as if he suspected the proximity of the
Irishman, even if he was not assured of it. He continued looking directly
at the point where the eyes of the white man peered out upon him, and
by-and-by he raised his arm and pointed in the same direction, saying
something at the same time to a couple of the warriors near him.
"Be the powers, if that doesn't mane _me_, as me friend Larry O'Toole said
when the judge axed for the biggest rascal in coort. I'll have to retire."
At this juncture a strange occurrence took place. Mickey O'Rooney was
looking straight at the man, when he saw him fling up his arms, yell and
pitch forward to the ground, while the group instantly scattered, as if a
bombshell had dropped at their feet.
Just a second previous to this strange death, Mickey heard the report of a
rifle, showing that the warrior had been shot by some one at quite a
distance from the spot, which shot, at the game time, caused a temporary
panic among the others.
"Well, well, now, if that doesn't bate everything!" exclaimed the amazed
Irishman. "Just as I was thinking of raising my gun to give that spalpeen
his walking-papers, up steps some gintleman and saves me the trouble; _but
who was the gintleman_? is the question."
The inexplicable occurrence naturally recalled Fred Munson's adventure
with the grizzly bear. When he needed assistance most sorely, the shot was
fired that saved his life. Could it be that the same party had interfered
in the present instance? There was plenty of ground for speculation, and
the Irishman was disposed to believe that the diversion came from some
small party of Kiowas or Comanches, who had a special enmity against this
company of Apaches, and who, being too weak to attack them, took this
means of revenging themselves.
It was unsafe, however, to count upon the well-aimed shot as meant in the
interest of the whites, although the one that brought down the grizzly
bear could not have been meant for anything else than a direct help to the
imperiled lad. The Southwest has been noted for what are termed
"triangular fights." A party of Americans have been driven at bay by an
overwhelming number of Mexicans or greasers, who have suddenly found
themselves attacked by a party of howling Comanches. The latter have
scattered the Mexicans like chaff, the Americans acting the part of
spectators until the rout was complete, when the Comanches turned about
and sailed into the Americans. The Kiowas, Comanches, Apaches, Mexicans
and Americans afforded just the elements for a complication of guerilla
warfare, in which matters frequently became mixed to a wonderful degree.
The hand that had fired this shot against a mortal foe of Mickey O'Rooney
might be turned against him the next hour. Who could tell?
"If that gintleman begins the serenade from the other side, it's me
bounden duty to kaap it up from this," concluded the Irishman, as he
cocked his rifle and awaited his chance.
It was not long in coming. Only a few minutes had passed after the shot,
when a couple of Apaches walked rapidly to view, and, approaching the
remains of their comrade, stooped down to carry him away.
Mickey allowed them to get fairly started, when he blazed away at the
foremost, and had the satisfaction of seeing the rear Apache not only
deprived of his assistance, but his duty suddenly doubled. The warrior,
however, stuck pluckily to the work, and dragged both out of view without
any assistance from those who were ready to rush to his help.
These two, or rather three, rifle shots produced the strongest kind of
effect upon the Apaches. They could not well fail to do so, for they were
not only fired with unerring aim, but they came from such diverse points
as to show the redskins that instead of having their enemies cooped up in
this narrow ravine, they had, in one sense, placed themselves between two
fires.
Hurriedly reloading his rifle, Mickey waited several minutes, determined
to fire the instant he got the chance, with the purpose of enhancing the
demoralization of the wretches. But they had received enough to teach them
caution, and as the minutes passed, they failed to expose themselves. They
had taken to shelter somewhere, and were not yet ready to uncover.
"When Mickey had waited a considerable time, he concluded to rejoin Fred
Munson, who, no doubt, was anxious over the result of his reconnoissance.
When he returned he found him seated upon the boulder, instead of behind
it. The Irishman hastily explained what had taken place, and added:
"I don't know what they will do next, but we've give the spalpeens a dose
that will kaap them in the background for a while."
"No, it won't, either," was the significant response.
"What do you maan, me laddy?"
"I mean that the Apaches, or some of them, anyway, have changed their
base. I've heard something overhead that makes me sure they're up there,
getting up some kind of deviltry."