HUNTING A STEED.
Leaving Fred Munson to watch for the approach of the Indians, it becomes
necessary to follow Mickey O'Rooney and Sut Simpson on their hunt for a
horse with which to continue their flight from the mountains and across
the prairies. It cannot be said that the scout, in starting upon this
expedition, had any particular plan in view. As he remarked, Indians were
around them, and, wherever Indians were found, it was safe to look for the
best kind of horses. Wherever the best opportunity offered, there he
intended to strike. With this view, the first position of their expedition
was in the nature of a survey, by which they intended to locate the field
in which to operate.
The Irishman could not fail to see the necessity of caution and silence,
and, leaving his more experienced companion to take the lead, he followed
him closely, without speaking or halting. The way continued rough and
broken, being very difficult to travel at times; but after they had
tramped a considerable distance, Mickey noticed that they were going down
hill at quite a rapid rate, and finally they reached the lowermost level,
where the scout faced him.
"Do yer know whar yer be?" he asked, in a significant tone.
"Know whar I be?" repeated the Irishman, in amazement. "How should I know,
as the spalpeens always said arter I knocked them down at the fair? What
means of information have I?"
"You've been over this spot afore," continued the scout, enjoying the
perplexity of his friend.
The latter scratched his head and looked about him with a more puzzled
expression than ever.
"The only place that it risimbles in my mind, is a hilly portion in the
north of Ireland. Do you maan to say we've arrived thar?"
"This is the pass which you tramped up and down, and whar you got into
trouble."
"It don't look like any part that I ever obsarved; but why do you have
such a hankering for this ravine, in which we haven't been used very
well?"
"Yer's whar the Injuns be, and yer's whar we must look for hosses--sh!"
Mickey heard not the slightest sound, but he imitated the action of the
scout and dodged down in some undergrowth, which was dense enough to hide
them from the view of any one who did not fairly trample upon them. They
had crouched but a minute or two in this position, when Mickey fancied he
heard the tramp of a single horse, approaching on a slow walk. He dared
not raise his head to look, although he noticed that the shoulders of the
scout in front of him were slowly rising, as he peered stealthily forward.
The experiences of the last few days had been remarkable in more than one
respect. The two men had set out to secure a horse, neither deeming it
probable that the one which was desired above all others could be
obtained; and yet, while they were crouching in the bushes, the very
animal--the one which had been ridden by Mickey O'Rooney--walked slowly
forth to view, on his way up the ravine or pass. The most noticeable
feature of the scene was that he was bestrode by an Indian warrior, whose
head was bent in a meditative mood. The redskin, so far as could be seen,
was without a companion, the steed walking at the slowest possible gait
and approaching a point which was no more than a dozen feet away.
The instant Mickey caught sight of the warrior and recognized his own
horse, there was a slight movement on the part of the scout. The Irishman
narrowly escaped uttering an exclamation of surprise and delight as he
identified his property, but he checked himself in time to notice that Sut
was stealthily bringing his gun around to the front, with the unmistakable
purpose of shooting the Apache. The heart of the Irishman revolted at such
a proceeding. There seemed something so cowardly in thus killing an
adversary without giving him an opportunity to defend himself that he
could not consent to it. Reaching forward, he twitched the sleeve of Sut,
who turned his head in surprise.
"What is it ye're driving at, me laddy?"
"Sh!--him!" he whispered, in return, darting his head toward the slowly
approaching horseman, winking and blinking so significantly that it was
easy to supply the words which were omitted.
"But why don't ye go out and tell him what ye intend, so that he can
inform his friends, and bid them all good-bye? It ain't the thing to pop a
man over in that style, without giving him a chance to meditate on the
chances of his life, so be aisy wid him, Soot."
[Illustration: "BE AISY WID HIM, SOOT."]
The scout seemed at a loss to understand the meaning of his companion,
whose waggery and drollery cropped out at such unexpected times that no
one knew when to expect it. The Indian was approaching and was already
close at hand. Keen-eared, and with their senses always about them,
Apaches are likely to detect the slightest disturbance. The scout glanced
at the horseman, and then at Mickey, who was in earnest.
"It's the only way to git the hoss, you lunkhead, so will yer keep yer
meat-trap shet?"
"I don't want a horse if we've got to murder a man to git the same."
"But the only way out here to treat an Injin is to shoot him the minute
yer see him--that's sensible."
"I don't want ye to do it," said Mickey, so pleadingly that the scout
could not refuse.
"Wal, keep still and don't interfere, and I promise yer I won't slide him
under, onless he gits in the way, and won't git out."
"All right," responded Mickey, not exactly sure that he understood him,
but willing to trust one who was not without his rude traits of manhood.
All this took place in a few seconds, during which the Apache horseman had
approached, and another moment's delay would have given him a good chance
of escape by flight. As noiselessly as a shadow the scout arose from his
knees to a stooping position, took a couple of long, silent strides
forward, and then straightened up, directly in front of the startled
horse, and still more startled rider. The former snorted, and partly
reared up, but seemed to understand, as if by an instinct, that the
stranger was more entitled to claim him than the one upon his back.
Another step forward and the scout held the bridle in his left hand, while
he addressed the astounded Apache in his own tongue, a liberal translation
being as follows:
"Let my brother, the dog of an Apache, slide off that animile, and vamoose
the ranch, or I'll lift his ha'r quicker'n lightning."
The savage deemed it advisable to "slide." He carried a knife at his
girdle, and held a rifle in his grasp, but the scout had come upon him so
suddenly that he felt he was master of the situation. So without
attempting to argue the matter with him, he dropped to the ground, and
began retreating up the ravine, with his face toward his conquerer, as if
he mistrusted treachery.
"Our blessing go wid ye," said Mickey, rising to his feet, and waving his
hand toward the alarmed Apache; "we don't want to harm ye, and ye may go
in pace. There, Soot," he added, as he came up beside him, "we showed that
spalpeen marcy whin he scarcely had the right to expict it, and he will
appreciate the same."
"Ye're right," grunted the scout. "He'll show ye how he'll appreciate it
the minute he gets a chance to draw bead onto yer; but ye've larned that
thar are plenty of varmints in this section, and if we're going to get
away with this hoss thar ain't no time to lose. Up with yer thar and take
the bridle."
Mickey did as he requested, not exactly understanding what the intention
was.
"What is to be done?" he asked, as the head of the animal was turned back
over the route that he had just traveled. "Am I to ride alone, while ye
walk beside me?"
"That's the idea for the present, so as to save the strength of the horse.
A half mile or so up the pass is a trail which leads down inter it. The
mustang can go over that like a streak of greased lightning, and thar's
whar we'll leave the pass, and make off through the woods and mountains,
till we can jine in with the younker and go it without trouble."
A few words of hurried consultation completed the plans. As they were very
likely to encounter danger, it was agreed that the scout should go ahead
of the horseman, keeping some distance in advance, and carefully
reconnoitering the way before him with a view of detecting anything amiss
in time to notify his friend, and prevent his running into it. There might
come a chance where it would not be prudent for Sut Simpson to press
forward, but where, if the intervening distance was short, Mickey might be
able to make a dash for the opening in the pass and escape with his
mustang. The Apache, being unhorsed in the manner described, had fled in
the opposite direction from that which they intended to follow. Of course
he could get around in front, and signal those who were there of what was
coming, provided the two whites were tardy in their movements, which they
didn't propose to be.
It required only a few minutes to effect a perfect understanding, when the
scout went a hundred yards or so ahead, moving forward at an ordinary
walk, scanning the ravine right, left and in front, and on the watch for
the first sign of danger. He had previously so located and described the
opening by which they expected to leave the pass, that Mickey was sure he
would recognize it the instant they came in sight of it. This was a rather
curious method of procedure, but it was continued for a time, and the
avenue alluded to was nearly in sight when Sut Simpson, who was a little
further than usual in advance, suddenly stopped and raised his hand as a
signal for his friend to stop.
Mickey did so at once, holding the mustang in check, while he watched the
scout with the vigilance of a cat. Sut never once looked behind him, but
his long form gradually sank down in the grass, until little more than his
broad shoulders and a coon-skin cap were visible. The pass at that place
was anything but straight, so that the view of Mickey was much less than
that of the scout; and, had it been otherwise, it is not likely that the
former would have been able to read the signs which were as legible to the
latter as the printed pages of a book.
"Begorrah, but that's onplisant!" muttered the Irishman to himself, "We
must be moighty close onto the door, when some of the spalpeens stick up
their heads and object to our going out. Be the powers! but they may
object, for all I care. I'm going to make a run for it!"
At this juncture the figure of the scout was seen approaching in the same
guarded manner.
"Well, Soot, me laddy, what do ye make of it?"
"Thar's a party of the varmints just beyont the place we meant to ride
out."
"Well, what of that? You can lave the pass somewhere along here, where
there seem plenty of places that ye can climb out, while I make a dash out
of that, and we'll meet agin after we get clear of the spalpeens."
"Thar's a mighty risk about it, and yer be likelier to get shot than to be
missed."
"That's all right," responded Mickey. "I'm reddy to take the chances in
that kind of business. Lead on, and we'll try it. It'll soon be dark, and
I'm getting tired of this fooling."
Sut liked that kind of talk. There was a business ring about it, and he
responded:
"I'll go ahead, and when it's time to stop I'll make yer the signal. Keep
watch of my motions."
Ten minutes later they had reached a spot so near the opening that Mickey
easily recognized it. He compressed his lips and his eyes flashed with a
stern determination as he surveyed it. The scout was still in the advance,
proceeding in the same careful manner, all his wits about him, when he
again paused, and motioned for the Irishman to stop. The latter saw and
recognized the gesture, but he declined to obey it. He permitted his
mustang to walk on until he had reached the spot where Sut was crouching,
making the most furious kind of motions, and telling him to stay where he
was.
"Why didn't yer stop when I tell yer, blast ye?" he demanded angrily.
"Is that the place where ye expected to go out?" asked Mickey, without
noticing the question, as he pointed off to the spot which he had fixed
upon as the one for which they were searching.
"Of course it is; but what of it? You can't do anything thar."
"I'll show ye, me laddy; I'm going there as sure as me name's Mickey
O'Rooney, and me."
"Yer ain't going to try any such thing; if yer do, I'll bore yer."
But the Irishman had already given the word to his horse. The latter
bounded forward, passing by the dumbfounded hunter, who raised his rifle,
angered enough to tumble the reckless fellow from the saddle. But, of
course, he could not do that, and he stared in a sort of a wondering
amazement at the course of the Irishman. The latter, instead of seeking to
conceal his identity, seemed to take every means to make it known. He put
the mustang on a dead run, sat bolt upright on his back, and Sut even
fancied that he could see that his cap was set a little to one side, so as
to give himself a saucy, defiant air to whomsoever might look upon him.
"Skulp me! if he ain't a good rider!" exclaimed the scout, anxious to
assist him in the trouble with which he was certain to environ himself.
"But he is riding to his death. Thar! what next? He's crazy."
This exclamation was caused by seeing Mickey lift his cap and swing it
about his head, emitting at the same time a number of yells such as no
Apache among them all could have surpassed.
"Whoop! whoop! ye bloody spalpeens! it's meself, Mickey O'Rooney, that's
on the war-path, and do ye kape out of the way, or there'll be some heads
broken."
Could madness further go? Instead of trying to avoid an encounter with the
Apaches, the belligerent Irishman seemed actually to be seeking it. And
there was no danger of his being disappointed. Certain of this, Sut
Simpson hurried on after him, for the purpose of giving what assistance he
could in the desperate encounter soon to take place.
Mickey was still yelling in his defiant way, with the long, lank figure of
the scout trotting along in the rear, when one, two, three, fully a half
dozen Apaches sprang from the ground ahead of the Irishman, and, as if
they divined his purpose, all began converging toward the opening which
was the goal of the fugitive. But it would have made no difference to the
latter if a score had appeared across his path. He hammered the ribs of
his mustang with his heels, urging him to the highest possible speed of
which he was capable. Then he replaced his cap, added an extra yell or
two, raised his rifle and sighted best as he could at the nearest Indian.
When he pulled the trigger, he missed the mark probably twenty feet, for
it was a kind of business to which Mickey was unaccustomed.
The Apaches threw themselves across his path, in the hope of checking the
mustang so as to secure the capture of the rider; but the animal abated
not a tittle, and strained every nerve to carry his owner through the
terrible gauntlet. One of the redskins, fearful that the fugitive was
going to escape in spite of all they could do, raised his gun, with the
purpose of tumbling him to the ground. Before he could do anything, he
dropped his gun, threw up his arms with a howl, and tumbled over backward.
Sut Simpson was near enough at hand to send in the shot that wound up his
career.
By this time, something like a sober second thought came to Mickey, who
saw that his horse comprehended what was expected of him, and needing do
further direction or urging. He realized, furthermore, that he had, by the
impetuous movement of the animal, thrown all his foes in the rear, and
they being unmounted, and anxious to check his flight, were certain to
give him the contents of their rifles. Accordingly he threw himself
forward upon the neck of the steed, scarcely a second before the crack of
the rifles were heard in every direction. The hurtling bullets passed
fearfully near, and more than once Mickey believed he was struck. But his
horse kept on with unabated speed, and a minute after thundered up the
slope, and he and his rider were beyond the reach of all their bullets.