The thing I was revolving in my own mind was this: Should I go all by
myself and warn the boys who were herding cattle on the plains, and
so run the risk of being captured or shot by the Comanches, or should
I stay with Bob and go with him to a place of safety? For I knew that
Lem and Frank would exert themselves to take him safely out of reach of
danger, while I could not say that for myself. I would be going right
back the way the Indians were coming, and to be captured--that is what
I was afraid of, for I had seen men who were taken prisoners by the
savages, and I knew what was in store for me. But those boys had stood
by us when we were in danger and were willing to do so again. While I
was thinking about it my horse was brought up. He was a small sorrel,
who had brought me in safety through many perilous places, and he was
lithe and vigorous yet. I did not see but that, if I got out on the
prairie with two or three Indians after me, I could make a good run
yet, and perhaps be able to overtake my party before they had got very
far away. My mind was made up. Those boys would not have deserted me,
and why should I desert them? I put my saddle on him, slipped on my
bridle, and threw the lariat off his neck. Then I buckled my revolvers
about my waist, picked up my rifle, and mounted.
“Good-by, boys,” said I.
“Why, where are you going?” demanded Bob. “We’re all going off in a
minute.”
“I am going out to warn the boys,” said I. “I think I will overtake you
after a while.”
“You mustn’t go!” exclaimed Tom. “You will be certain to be captured,
and you know better than we can tell you what they will do to you.”
“I know it perfectly well. But I have no kith or kin to worry their
heads about me, and I can go as well as anybody. I know right where
they are----”
“But you have got to go along the road that the Indians are coming,”
said the civilian, who was utterly astounded by my proposition.
“I know that too, but somebody must go, or leave those fellows to be
killed. Come and shake hands with me, boys, and let me go.”
“You are a brave lad, and I hope you will come out all right,” said
Frank, as the boys came up one after the other. Elam and Tom didn’t
have a word to say, but they were badly cut up. Bob’s eyes were filled
with tears, and he clung to me with both hands.
“Carlos, I am sorry that you have come to this decision,” said he. “Why
can’t somebody else go? You have been with me so long that you are like
a brother to me.”
“The best of brothers must part some time or other,” said I. “If I fall
nobody will be the wiser for it, except you fellows right around here.
Good-by, everybody,” I cried, and with a circular sweep of my arm to
include all hands, I wheeled my horse and started on my lonely journey.
“There are some fellows who will be sorry if anything happens to me,” I
soliloquized. “During the time I have been with them I have never made
anybody mad, and that’s a heap to say for a man who has been to Texas.
Now the next thing for me is to look out for myself.”
In spite of all this delay, occasioned by asking and answering so many
questions, not more than five minutes elapsed before I was on my way
to warn the cowboys. One learns to think rapidly when living on the
frontier, and while we talked we worked. In a few minutes I was beyond
reach of the grove, and taking my horse well in hand rode forward at
about half pace, and in half an hour more this grove was out of sight
behind the swells and the last glimpse of the ranch had disappeared.
I was alone on the prairie, and a feeling of depression I had never
before experienced came over me. I kept my horse at half pace because
I didn’t know how soon he would be called upon to exert himself to the
utmost, and I did not want to ride a wearied nag in my struggle for
life. The horse knew that there was something going on, for he kept
his eyes and ears constantly on the alert, and having more faith in
him than I had in myself, I watched him closely. I was certain that he
would smell an Indian long before I could see him.
At the end of another half hour I began to wonder why I did not see
some signs of the cowboys, but there was nothing in sight. Nothing, did
I say? Away off to the left loomed up a body which was lying in the
grass. I couldn’t tell whether it was a beef or a horse, for it was
about half a mile away. My horse discovered it at the same time and
snorted loudly.
“There is something over there as sure as you are a foot high,” said I
to myself, looking all around to see what sort of a place I was going
to get in. I didn’t like the appearance of things where that body lay.
On all sides of it, except the one by which I entered, was a ravine,
and it was so deep that I could just see the tops of the willows
growing up out of it--a splendid place indeed for an ambuscade. I
didn’t want to go in there, and that was the long and short of it. “I
must go in there and see what that is,” said I, after taking note of
all these little things. “It may be something that will tell me of the
fate of the cowboys.”
If my horse had refused to go in there I believe I should have ridden
back to the ranch and never thought that I was guilty of cowardice;
but he didn’t. When I called on him to go ahead he went, but he did
not seem to be holding his course toward the dead beef or horse
I have spoken of, but turned a little to the right as if he were
seeking evidence a little further on. Wondering what there was that
my horse had in his mind, I humored him, and in a few minutes was
horror-stricken at the scene he brought me to. There, flat on his back,
stripped, scalped, his head beaten in by a stone or some other blunt
instrument, and mutilated beyond description, lay Sam Noble, one of
our cowboys. Where the other two were I didn’t know, nor did I waste
any time looking for them. I shall never forget it as long as I live.
He had evidently been killed before he was captured, which was a lucky
thing for Sam.
[Illustration: KILLED BY THE INDIANS.]
As soon as I could recover my breath I pulled my horse about and
took the back trail with long jumps, but before my horse had made half
a dozen leaps I saw that I was captured. Three Indians came riding out
of the ravine on my left, and scarcely had they been discovered, when
three or four more came from the ravine on my right. What was I to do?
I had heard that when a white man was surrounded by Indians, if he
would raise his gun in the act of shooting, every Indian would at once
get behind his horse. I don’t know why that came into my mind, but I
tried it then and there, and in an instant two of the Indians were out
of sight. They had gone down on the other side of their horses, so that
I had nothing but a leg and a small portion of the head to shoot at.
The third Indian, however, retained his upright position, and, holding
up his bare hand to me, shouted:
“Don’t shoot! We’re friends.”
You can imagine what my feelings were as I sat there and listened to
those words. They were my friends, and yet Sam Noble had been killed
that very morning in the effort to escape from them! While I held my
rifle in my hands and sat there debating the question, the Indians came
quite close to me, too late to escape, and I yielded to them like one
in a dream. I was able to tell now what savages looked like in their
war-paint; and although they were hideous enough before, you can’t
conceive what a difference those streaks of red and yellow paint made
in their appearance. They looked just awful. The white man was the only
one among them that was not painted, and I felt more like surrendering
my weapons to him than I did to any of his savage crew. But I didn’t
get the chance. The first one who held out his hand for my rifle was
an Indian, and I readily gave it up to him. The other Indian seized my
horse by the bridle, and the white man, after securing my revolvers and
buckling them around his own waist, open my shirt and felt all around
for the belt that contained my money; but he couldn’t find it.
“Where is it?” said he, with something that sounded like an oath.
“Where is what?” I asked, for I had by this time recovered my wits. I
had no idea what would happen to me afterward, but I knew that so long
as I behaved myself with them I need not stand in fear of bodily harm.
“The belt,” replied the man. “You didn’t bring it with you?”
“It is hidden at the ranch,” I replied. “We thought that somebody might
try to take it away from us.”
“Well, we will have to go after it, and you will have to show us where
it is,” said the man. “But first I must take you down here to show you
to somebody here who is anxious to see you.”
“To show me to somebody?” I exclaimed, lost in wonder, as the redskin
who held my horse turned me around. I wasn’t terrified any longer. My
fright had given place to something that was stronger than fear, and I
was amazed at the words the man said. “Somebody” wanted to see me, and
I wondered who that somebody could be. Could it be Coyote Bill? If it
was, I was on nettles. He would propose to me to “become one of them,”
and when I refused, what would happen to me? I resolved to follow that
matter up a little.
“Yes, sir; there’s a man that wants to see you,” said he. “He has got a
name around here that you don’t want to know too much about, too.”
“Know too much about him? Why, I know about him already. Is it Coyote
Bill?”
The man seemed surprised that I spoke his name so readily. He looked at
me as though he hardly knew what to say.
“How did you learn what his name was?” he asked at length.
“One of my chums guessed it,” I replied. “Anybody who knows anything
about Coyote Bill would know that he didn’t come on that ranch for
nothing.”
The man said no more, but I was satisfied from the little he did say
that I was right in my conjectures. There was another thing that was
strange to me, and the longer I thought of it the more bewildered I
became. This white man had been to school, had received the benefits
of an education, and how did it come that he was there among the
Indians? There was something strange about him and Coyote Bill, and
I wanted to get at the bottom of it, but I may add that I never did.
I took a good look at the man who rode by my side, and I didn’t see
anything more desperate about him than I had seen about Coyote Bill.
Take his weapons and buckskin suit away from him, and dress him up in
fine clothing, and he would have passed for a business man anywhere.
There was another thing that worried me as I rode along. I wondered
if any such capture had ever been made by hostile Indians before. The
savages paid no more attention to me than if I was one of themselves,
but seemed to have given me up entirely to the white man. As soon as
we got through the willows and came out on the prairie again, we rode
along in single file, the white man just ahead and the others bringing
up the rear, so escape was simply impossible. I knew I must see that
“somebody” who was so anxious to see me, and I nerved myself for the
test. I had nothing to fear until I saw him.
“Can these Indians speak English?” I asked, at length.
“No,” replied the white man. “You can say what you please and they
won’t tell on you.”
“Well, the question I should like to have you answer is, How in the
world you ever came out here among them?” said I. “You have been to
school and don’t talk as these Texans generally do.”
“No, I have been to school; that’s a fact,” said the man, after
hesitating a little.
“What sent you down here?”
“Look here, my friend,” said the man, turning around in his saddle and
looking at me with his snapping gray eyes; “I didn’t agree to take you
into my confidence.”
He used the very same words to me that Coyote Bill had used when I
asked him the same question; and he didn’t seem to be angry about it,
either.
“What made you think anything brought me down here?” he asked. “What
brought you down here?”
“I came to buy cattle, but the drought had got in ahead of me and I
thought I would wait until it was over. Hallo! What’s the matter with
you?”
“You came down here to buy cattle?” exclaimed the man, looking at me
with an expression of great astonishment on his face.
“Yes, sir, I did; and there are two other boys in my party. But what
surprises you so greatly?”
“Then your name isn’t Bob Davenport?”
I said it was not, but I didn’t tell him what my name was. I knew Bob
very well, and had left him at the ranch that morning. I didn’t say,
however, that he was making hurried preparations for flight, for I
thought that was something the man could find out for himself. The man
listened in amazement, and, when I got through, uttered a string of
oaths.
“Set me down for a blockhead, and you’ll hit it,” he said, as soon as
he could speak. “I might have known that you were not the fellow.”
“Did you calculate to capture Bob?” I enquired, and my astonishment
and delight were so strong that it was all I could do to repress them.
That is what I meant when I said that Henderson and Coyote Bill began
persecuting Bob at once on account of his wealth, and did not intend to
let up on him until he had been driven from the country. I saw through
the whole scheme at once. They intended to keep Bob a prisoner among
the Indians until he was ready to do just as they wanted him to do, and
that would be to sign his property over to Henderson. It didn’t look to
me as though that plan would work, but Henderson evidently knew some
way to get around it.
“Why, of course I intended to capture Bob Davenport,” said the man,
and it was plain enough to see that what I had said made him very
angry. “What use are you to me? If I had known that you were not Bob I
wouldn’t have taken you prisoner.”
“What would you have done to me?”
“You saw that man up there that was shot from his horse, didn’t you?”
said he, in a very significant tone of voice. “Well, you would have
been that way now. I could make mince-meat of you in two minutes!” he
added fiercely. “There’s timber right ahead, and the redskins are just
aching to get their hands on you. But then you are a brave boy; I will
say that much for you. It isn’t everyone who would go on and talk so
when he found himself a prisoner among hostile Indians. I’ll wait until
I see what Coyote Bill will have to say about you.”
I tell you I was afraid of this, and my only hope of salvation lay with
Coyote Bill. I rode along in silence after that and never had anything
more to say. I knew what the man meant when he referred to the timber
right ahead. All that was needed for him was to tell the Indians that
his protection for me was withdrawn, and in two minutes I would have
been stripped and staked out, and a fire burning at one of my feet. All
that stood in his way of saying that was Coyote Bill.
“I do know something that I want to tell Bill,” I said.
“Very well, then keep it for him,” answered the man. “I don’t want to
talk to you any more.”
All that day and until far into the night I rode along without seeing a
living soul, never once stopping to give our horses a bite to eat, and
then I suddenly became aware that we were in the camp of Indians. While
we were going along a redskin sprang up on our right and addressed a
few words to us in his native tongue, and then sank out of sight again.
He was one of the sentries who were out to watch the cattle and see
that they didn’t stampede. We kept on and in a few minutes reached the
timber. There was no one in sight, and no preparations made for supper,
and I felt about half-starved.
“You can take off your saddle and bridle and camp here under this
tree,” said the man. “Let your horse go where he is a mind to.”
So saying he rode off, accompanied by all the Indians save two, whom
he left to act as my guards. As I felt tired and discouraged, too, it
did not take me long to comply with the white man’s orders, and when I
removed the saddle from the horse I judged by the way he shook himself
and went to cropping the grass beneath his feet, that he was as hungry
as I was. While I was thus engaged the Indians bustled about, and when
I had thrown myself on the ground, with my saddle for a pillow, I found
that they had a little fire kindled; a very little fire, over which
a white man would freeze to death, but they sat around it and warmed
their hands with evident satisfaction. But not a word was said about
supper, and I began to think I should have to go hungry to bed, when
I heard the twigs cracking out in the timber, and in a few minutes up
came the white man, accompanied by Henderson and Coyote Bill. I wasn’t
so surprised to see Henderson there as a good many people might think.
He was with Coyote Bill, and of course he was bound to take up with
Bill’s companionship.
“Well, well, Carlos; how are you?” said Bill; and to show that he was
in a humorous mood, he backed toward a little mound of earth, sat down
upon it, and laughed uproariously.
“How do you do?” said I, taking a few steps toward Bill and extending
my hand; for I thought, if I could lead the man to shake hands with me,
I would be all right.
“No, I don’t want to shake hands with you,” said he. “The Indians are
on the watch, and they take that as a sign of friendship. But what in
the world induced you to come out? Why didn’t you stay at the ranch?
You have got yourself in a pretty fix!”
“I say give him a dose of lead,” muttered Henderson, who was almost
overcome with rage. “I’ll have him out of my way, at any rate.”
“That’s enough out of you,” said Coyote Bill. “Such things are only
done here when I say the word.”
“Hasn’t that boy been in my way ever since I have been here?” exclaimed
Henderson. “Didn’t he go out to the ranch and find that pocket-book?”
I was astonished to hear Henderson talk that way. He had been growing
worse instead of better; but, after all, when I came to consider the
matter, I didn’t see that there was anything so very surprising about
it. Some writer has said that if we don’t grow better we grow worse,
and that was what was the matter with Henderson. One of the first
things he spoke of in regard to Bob was, that no finger should be
lifted against his life; and here he was going to shoot me who hadn’t
done anything to him.
“He got the pocket-book because we were not fortunate enough to look
where it was,” said Coyote Bill. “Now, Henderson, I don’t want to hear
another word out of you. You are under my protection now, but the
minute I withdraw it--well, you know what will happen.”
“You asked what should be done with that boy,” said Henderson. “Well, I
have told you.”
“But I didn’t think you would propose any fool thing like that,” said
Bill. “I must first take Carlos back to the house with me. You know
where all that money is kept hidden, I suppose?”
“Why, yes, I know where it is,” I answered, considerably surprised.
To think that any man in his sober senses would go off and leave
his money behind him, was ridiculous. I looked at Coyote Bill to see
if he meant what he said, but it was so dark that I couldn’t see the
expression of his face; but Henderson evidently knew what he was
speaking about when he said, in a voice choked with passion:
“You are going to lay a plan for him to escape. I wish I could talk to
these Indians, for then I could let them see what you are up to!”
“What I choose to do is nothing to you!” said Bill, as he turned
fiercely upon Henderson. “Once more, and for the last time, I ask you
to keep still. How did you find out that we were coming, any way?” he
added, addressing himself to me.
“There were three men came along who had plainly been in some sort of a
fight,” said I. “We wanted to know what the trouble was, and they told
us.”
“Ah, yes! Did they tell you about the mule that got away from us?”
“I don’t know what mule you mean.”
“We got all the money except five thousand dollars, and that was
supposed to be packed on a mule that lit out. He was shot three or four
times, but I never saw anything run as he did.”
“And did he escape?”
“Well, I should say so. He took right down toward your ranch, too, and
I didn’t know but you had seen him there.”
“And yet, in the face of all this----”
Henderson didn’t say any more, for Coyote Bill turned around and looked
at him. He thought his companion was in earnest when he told him to
keep still.
“I didn’t know but that it would be a good chance for lucky Tom to try
his hand on that mule,” said Coyote Bill, with a smile. “He has been
lucky in finding one pocket-book, and he might be equally lucky in
this.”
“He will go down among those rich cattlemen and be captured,” said
Henderson bitterly. “The men who don’t care a cent for those five
thousand dollars will have just that much more to jingle in their
pockets; while we, who are hard up for the money--dog-gone the luck!
it is so the world over.”
Coyote Bill laughed again.
“I don’t see anything so very laughable about this matter,” said
Henderson. “You laughed because we got the wrong boy----”
“That will do,” said Bill. “You are getting off on your old subject,
and I won’t sit here and be abused. Haven’t had any supper yet, have
you, Carlos?”
“No, I haven’t; and I feel as though I could do justice to some corn
bread and bacon.”
“Well, then, come with me.”
Turning to the Indians, he addressed some words to them in their native
tongue,--it sounded like gibberish to me,--and started at once into the
woods, while I picked up my saddle and bridle and followed behind him.