THE SNAKE'S VERDICT
In that desperate moment Stephens felt that he was respited as by a
miracle. The bullet had missed him. He dropped his right hand on to the
wall over which the weapon had been fired, and clearing it with a mighty
bound, lit right on top of someone recocking a discharged pistol. His
eyes, dazzled by the fire glare, saw nothing, but he grappled him by the
feel on the instant; with one powerful twist of his body he whirled his
opponent off his legs and flung him to the ground, going down with him
himself and falling heavily upon him. The Indian--he knew him for an
Indian as he grappled with him by the blanket he wore--felt like a child
in his grip. He seized him by the throat with the left hand and choked
him, his right holding the left arm of the other and pinning him to the
ground. What he had to fear now was that the free right arm would deal
him some deadly blow with knife or pistol, and he tightened his grasp on
the muscular throat to choke the life out of him. Then he suddenly
realised that his foe was mastered, and he lifted his weight partly off
his chest, still, however, kneeling on him with one knee and bearing him
down with his hands.
And now his eyes were growing accustomed to the dark, and he could
distinguish the features of the man under him. "By George!" he cried,
"but it's Felipe. Why, you murderous young cub, what devilment are you
up to now?"
But the Indian youth lay helpless under his knee, gasping, and made no
answer. That strangling grasp on his throat had nearly finished him off.
Still holding him down, Stephens ran his eyes around to see if other
foes were near. The moon was very low now, but its level rays cast
sufficient light to allow him to discern that there was no enemy visible
anywhere. He listened intently, but no sound came to him except the
laboured breathing of the prostrate Indian. He longed for Faro. "If I'd
only got you along, old man," thought he, "this young devil would never
have been able to get the drop on me the way he did; and now you'd be
able to tell me whether there were any more mean hounds like him laying
for me. I wonder if there are any more around?" For several minutes he
remained motionless like this, but there was no sign of anyone to
succour the fallen man. The discharged pistol was lying on the ground
within arm's length. He reached out and picked it up, his left hand and
knee still firmly pressing his antagonist against the ground. He looked
the revolver over; it was a good weapon, he could tell that much, but he
could not recognise it. He had mended many weapons for the Santiago
people during the winter, and the thought had occurred to him that he
might chance to know this one, but on examination he did not remember to
have ever set eyes on it before.
Felipe, under his knee, lay perfectly still, and his breathing was
becoming more regular. Laying the pistol down behind him, Stephens felt
for the boy's belt, and unbuckled it and dragged it from under him; it
carried a knife in its sheath as well as the holster for the pistol. He
put these behind him likewise, away from his prisoner's hand. Again he
paused and listened for the sound of possible enemies approaching; but
he could hear nothing whatever. He felt his own revolver, to make sure
it was all right in its place, and he thought of his Winchester lying in
its case by his saddle, the other side of the wall. If an enemy were to
sneak up and grab that, he, Stephens, would be in a fix. He took his
weight off his knee for a moment, so as to lighten the pressure on
Felipe's body. "Who's with you, you young ruffian?" he asked.
"No one, Sooshiuamo," replied the boy. The breath was fast coming back
to his lungs; he spoke audibly, but with difficulty.
"Don't call me Sooshiuamo, you wretch! Do you mean to say you're here
all alone? If you lie to me now I'll kill you right here."
"Yes, sir," said Felipe, "I'm alone."
Stephens hesitated; he knew Felipe well enough to judge, by the way he
spoke, that he was telling the truth; but he was much puzzled to account
for this murderous attack. Various theories flitted through his brain.
He had not a single enemy in the pueblo that he knew of, the cacique
perhaps excepted; but the cacique, of all men, was the most unlikely to
select Felipe to do this trick. Could this attack be intended as a
punishment on him for violating some old superstition of theirs, by
making a fire here in the ruined pueblo? Such a thing might be ample
justification for murdering him, from their point of view, as he had
reason to know. Their behaviour over the blasting of the ditch was proof
enough of how strongly they could feel about things that shocked their
religious susceptibilities. But how could they have known of his crime
when he had only found the spot an hour ago? He determined to
cross-question his prisoner.
"Who set you on to murder me?" he asked.
Felipe hesitated. "Nobody," he said finally.
"Do you mean to tell me you did it on your own hook?" he asked,
incredulous.
"Yes, sir."
"Where d'you get that pistol?" Stephens knew he didn't own one.
"I bought it."
"Where?"
"In San Remo."
"Who sold it to you?"
"The storekeeper."
"Mr. Backus?"
"Yes, sir."
A light began to dawn upon Stephens. Backus undoubtedly had a grudge
against him.
"Did he put you up to this?" he asked.
Felipe was silent.
"Answer me; mind you, your life's at stake."
"Partly he did."
"Partly, you say. What do you mean? Who else?"
"Partly myself."
"You young scallywag! What did you want to kill me for?"
Felipe hesitated, but he felt the knee of the man who had him down begin
to press harder again. "Because of Josefa," he said, with evident
reluctance.
"Explain yourself, you idiot. Because of Josefa? Why, it was I who saved
her. Don't you know that much?"
"You took her away," said Felipe sulkily.
"Of course I did, you ninny. What would you have had me do? Leave her
with her father to be beaten to death? You're a plumb idiot."
"You needn't have taken her, though, for yourself," rejoined the boy.
"Oh, you make me tired!" said Stephens; "if that's all you've got to
kill me for, get up." He released the young Indian, taking care,
however, to retain possession of the belt and pistol and knife. Felipe
scrambled to his feet rather unsteadily.
"I've a mind to boot you all the way back to the pueblo," said Stephens
disgustedly; "not for trying to blow the top of my head off, though you
deserve it for missing me at only four feet away, but for being such a
loony idiot as to think that. By Jimini! I haven't got language to say
what I think of you. Why, you--you--you galoot! when did you ever know
me go to carrying on with any of the women in the pueblo? You ought to
know me better by this time."
Felipe looked abashed.
"You all but did for yourself," he went on,--"that is, if you'd only
known it; and I'm not sure that you haven't now. Why, I took her over
from her family thinking to give her to you, but I'm dashed if I know
whether I'd ought to now. There's too many blanked fools in this world
already to make it worth while to help to set more of 'em going.
However, we'll see what she's got to say about you. If she has a fancy
for marrying an escaped lunatic, I suppose she'll have to have her way.
Come, I'm going back to the fire; walk through that door there and we'll
go in. Here, take your belt, but I'm dashed if you're to be trusted with
a loaded pistol any more than if you were a three-year-old baby." He
raised the Colt above his head and rapidly discharged the five loaded
chambers one after another in the air.
It was the report of those shots that attracted the attention of the
storekeeper far off on the hillside. The two entered the cave-dwelling,
Felipe holding himself very stiffly as he moved.
"I don't wonder you're stiff," said the American, observing him; "I must
have pretty near squeezed the life out of you, and serves you right." He
was still very angry.
"It isn't that," said Felipe, feeling his dignity assailed; "my shoulder
is very sore; I have a bullet wound in it."
"The mischief, you have," said Stephens. "I suppose you got that from
the cacique. I guess it must have hurt you some when I was mauling you
just now." His voice softened a bit. "Of course I couldn't know about
that"; he was actually apologising already to his would-be murderer.
"Here, bring it to the light of the fire and let me see it." Felipe
squatted down with his right shoulder towards the blaze. "H'm, yes, an
ugly place, rather," examining it carefully, "but it's been well done
up"; he smelt it, "you've got that carbolic on it; good stuff for a
gunshot wound, in my opinion. Say, where d'you get any round here?"
"Mr. Backus," answered the boy.
"Oh, from him. Seems to me he's been having a good deal to say to you
lately. Who dressed this for you?" He replaced the bandage.
"Mr. Backus."
"Well, he understands gunshot wounds pretty well, but you take my advice
and don't have any more to do with him for the present. He aint good
company for young gentlemen with no more brains than you--Hullo! what's
that? Didn't you hear something out yonder?"
A faint cry appeared to come from a distance.
"It sounds like a man," said Felipe.
The cry was repeated; it seemed like the word "Help!"
"Come on," cried Stephens, snatching his Winchester from the case and
running into the darkness in the direction from which the sound seemed
to come. Felipe followed him.
"Help!" came again more distinctly.
In another minute they were on the spot where the body of a man lay
writhing on the ground face downwards. Stephens stooped and raised him,
and beheld his enemy, Backus.
He let him drop on the ground again as if he had unexpectedly picked up
a snake, and sprang back grasping his rifle at the ready. Could this be
some infernal trap? Had Felipe been deceiving him?
"Did you lie to me?" There was a dangerous ring in his voice. "I asked
you if you were alone, and you said you were, and here's the man who's
your confederate, by your own confession."
"Before God, I didn't know he was here," cried the boy very earnestly.
"What's the matter with him? He's dying."
"He deserves to die," said the prospector, looking down at him.
"Whiskey," moaned Backus brokenly; "I'm snake-bit."
"Snake-bit, are you?" said the prospector, still suspicious. "Well, if
you are that's rather rough on you. Where are you struck?"
"In the face," said the wretched man. "For God's sake help me; this
pain's maddening. I'm going to die."
"Lift his head up, Felipe," said Stephens, "and let me see the place.
Great Scot! I should say you were snake-bit, and powerful bad, too," he
added, as the young Indian lifted the head of the fallen man and turned
it so as to show the face. It was a ghastly sight! The whole of the left
cheek and side of the head were swollen out of all recognition, and the
puffed and strained skin was so discoloured that it looked like a mass
of livid bruises.
His first suspicion had been that the cunning storekeeper had set Felipe
on him, and then, finding that the Indian had failed in his murderous
attack, had adopted the heartless but too common ruse of shamming sick,
in order to get his antagonist at a disadvantage. Stephens had sprung
backward, and was standing now with his Winchester, ready at any moment
to pump lead into his would-be murderers; but the awful condition of his
enemy was proof sufficient that there was no sham about this case.
Holding his rifle in one hand, he advanced, and with the other aided
Felipe to raise the fallen man to a sitting posture.
"When did it happen?" he asked.
"Just now."
The stricken man's breathing was painfully laboured, and he spoke with
extreme difficulty, so that it was hard to understand him.
"Have you any whiskey?" Stephens inquired.
"No."
"Have you done anything for it?"
"No."
"There's nothing you could have done that I know of," said Stephens; "I
was thinking whether I could try to lance it for you, but I'm afraid of
cutting an artery. Of course, Felipe, it isn't possible that you could
have any whiskey?"
"No, indeed, Sooshiuamo," said the boy; "how could I?"
"No, no, of course you couldn't," said the prospector; "and I haven't
any neither. If we had a quart of whiskey here we might be able to save
him. The only thing we can do is to keep him moving. Look here, Felipe,
you lift him under the right shoulder and I'll lift him under the left;
we must walk him around. Now then, up!" Between them they raised the
unhappy man to his feet.
"Come on," cried Stephens, "hold him up. Steady now."
They walked forward as steadily as they could in the direction of the
cave-dwelling, Backus staggering along between them. His legs went
through the motions of walking almost mechanically, but his weight
rested entirely on his two supporters, and he was a heavy man to carry.
"Stick to it, Felipe," said Stephens, "it's the only chance for him.
Keep him going." They reached the cave. "Set him down here a minute
before the fire," said Stephens, putting aside his rifle, and with both
hands lowering the patient to the ground, after spreading his blanket
for him to lie on. Backus was in a state of appalling collapse; the
swelling increased so rapidly that it seemed as if his head must burst;
the inflamed skin was horribly mottled with red and green and yellow,
and a cold sweat broke out on him. Stephens knelt beside him and felt
his pulse; it was rapid, fluttering, and feeble.
Felipe looked on, awestruck and speechless. That the prospector should
try to preserve the life of his enemy did not appeal to him at all; it
seemed to him only one more of the unaccountable things these Americans
did. But the frightful state of the storekeeper, and the agonising pains
he was suffering were the work of the dread reptile he had been taught
to reverence from his earliest days. The gods were angry with Backus,
and this was their doing.
Stephens felt that the stricken man's hands were growing deadly cold. He
sprang up. "Come on, Felipe!" he exclaimed, rising quickly again to his
feet. "He's at the last gasp, I think. We must try to walk him up and
down again. It's the one thing we can do."
They raised him to his feet once more, Stephens putting his right arm
round his waist, and steadying him with the other, and, Felipe aiding,
they walked him to and fro on the meadow, trying to counteract the fatal
lethargy produced by the bite.
"He must have got an awful dose of poison into him," said Stephens, as
they struggled along with their now nearly unconscious burden. "I guess
it must have been a snake that had been lying up for the winter, and had
only just come out now the warm weather's beginning. They're worst of
all then; their poison-bag has a full charge in it."
But Felipe made no answer; he was not affected by the scientific
question as to how many drops of venom there might be in a serpent's
poison-gland. For him the question was, "Had the god struck to kill? or
would he be content to punish and pardon?" But as he looked at the
lolling head and dragging limbs of the victim he felt that the god had
struck to kill.
At this moment the moon sank beneath the horizon.
"I guess he's come to the jumping-off place," said Stephens, as Backus
sank into absolute unconsciousness. "Let's carry him right back to the
fire."
Once more they laid him down beside that prehistoric hearth, and the
ruddy glow lit up the horrid spectacle of his distorted face. They tried
to warm him and keep the life in him a little longer; but it was in
vain. The laboured breath came slower and slower; the feeble pulse waxed
fainter and fainter; the chill hand of death was there, and nought that
they could do was of any avail; and after a little while Stephens was
aware that the thing that lay in front of the fire was but a disfigured
corpse.
Between them, he and Felipe raised it, and laid it at one side of the
dwelling, and covered it from sight with the blanket. When they returned
to the fire, they stood there side by side gazing at the embers in a
long silence. They stood as it were in the presence of death, and
neither the white man nor the red had any mind to break the solemnity of
the scene.
Suddenly there came a low, rustling, slithering sound from the stones in
the corner behind them, as a large snake glided out across the floor,
and swiftly vanished into the darkness without.
Stephens gave an involuntary shudder. "That brute must have been in the
corner there all the time I was here," he said.
"Yes, Sooshiuamo," answered Felipe in an awestruck voice, "he was there,
but he did not touch you. Now he has gone to tell his brother who struck
your enemy that he is dead. The snakes must be your friends; they do not
hurt you; they only kill your enemies for you"; and as if impelled to
penitence by what he regarded as a supernatural warning, he turned to
the prospector and poured out in a flood a full confession of all he had
heard and seen and suspected of Backus's schemes, and of his dealings
with the Navajos.
Stephens listened aghast. Mahletonkwa certainly had told him that his
message to the governor had been stopped, but he had been loath to
believe that a white man could play such a treacherous game, and side
with savages against his own countryman. It was natural for the American
to prefer to think that the Navajo had lied; but, if Felipe spoke true,
the wretched man who lay dead before them had really and actually sold
him into the hands of the Navajos. Then arose the question--what had
been his object? There might be more dangers around, more plots that
Felipe knew nothing of? "I never liked him, it's true, but why should he
play such a mean trick merely for that? If he really did destroy my
letters asking for the soldiers, he must have done it that very hour
that I gave them to him. It wasn't till the next day that I knocked him
into the ditch, so he couldn't have done it out of revenge for that blow
I gave him. I wonder, now, if he could have kept a grudge against me for
that old wound at Apache Cañon? Some folks find it mighty hard to
forgive."
"Well," he continued aloud, addressing Felipe, "I sha'n't bear any
malice against you, young 'un. I reckon that--well--that fellow just
used you, and you aint much more to blame than an idiot--pity you hadn't
got more sense; but that's enough--I'll never think of it again."
Felipe looked up at him with dumb gratitude in his eyes.
"And now," said the prospector, when the misunderstanding between them
had been thus settled, "the morning star is up, and it will be dawn
directly. We must take the body down to San Remo that it may be buried
by his own people."
He went out to the meadow and brought up the horse and put the saddle on
him. With no small difficulty they lifted the corpse on to it and made
it fast there, and then, with Felipe at the horse's head, and Stephens
holding the sad burden in place, they made their way back to the trail,
and so down once more from the sierra to the village.