THE WAY OF A WHITE MAN
He was conscious of but one thing--a thing that was born of his
white man’s soul.
With a cry of dismay Hugh ran to the place where he kept hidden his
hoard of gold. His pitifully small earnings were untouched. Natachee’s
bow and quiver of arrows, without which the Indian never left the cabin,
were in their usual place. His hunting knife, which was always in his
belt, was lying on the floor. It was not difficult for Hugh to guess
what had happened.
Sonora Jack, unable with the help of his map to find the Mine with the
Iron Door, and believing that Natachee knew the location of the treasure
had sought the Indian to force him to reveal the secret. While Natachee
was in the gulch with Edwards, Sonora Jack and his companions had
entered the cabin, and waiting there had taken the Indian by surprise
when he returned. The ground in front of the cabin was trampled by
horses, and the tracks of their iron shoes were clear, leading away down
the mountain toward the lower cañon. There was no doubt in Hugh’s mind
but that the outlaws had taken Natachee away with them. Without
hesitation he set out to follow the tracks as fast as he could in the
failing light. He was wholly without experience in such matters, but the
ground was soft from the winter rains and the three horses left a trail
that was easy enough to follow.
When it became too dark to see, he was a mile or two from the cabin,
well down on the steep slope of what he thought must be a spur of
Samaniego Ridge. He had set out to follow the outlaws upon the impulse
of the moment. In his excitement, he had not paused to think. But now,
when he could no longer see the tracks, he was forced to stop and
consider the situation with more deliberation.
Hugh Edwards realized that he was in every way but poorly equipped to
meet such an emergency. What, he asked himself, could he do if he should
succeed in finding the outlaws with their captive? If it had been a
question of meeting Sonora Jack alone and bare-handed, he would have no
reason to hesitate. Certainly he would not fear to face such an issue.
Hugh Edwards was far from being either a weakling or a coward. But
Sonora Jack was not alone. There were two others with him and they were
undoubtedly well armed, while their desperate characters were clearly
evidenced by their successful attack on Natachee. Hugh smiled grimly and
touched the weapon at his side as he recalled how he had said to
Natachee:
“I could not hit a flock of barns.”
After all, why should he concern himself with Natachee’s affairs? The
red man had never professed anything even approaching friendship for
him. For weeks the Indian had held him a prisoner and with all the
cruelty and cunning of his savage fathers had tortured him. Why not
abandon him now to his fate? Why not return to the hut, take what gold
he had accumulated and make his way out of the country? But as quickly
as these thoughts raced through his mind, Hugh Edwards dismissed
them--Marta.
If Natachee had not told him of Sonora Jack’s interest in the old
prospectors and their partnership daughter it might, perhaps, have been
possible for him to desert the Indian now. But in spite of his hatred
for his tormentor, and in spite of the bitter, revengeful purpose which
he knew inspired the red man’s interest in his affairs and in the woman
he loved, Hugh needed Natachee’s help. Perhaps even now, at that very
moment, the Indian was finding, through Sonora Jack, a key to the
mystery of Marta Hillgrove’s birth and parentage. At any cost he, Hugh
Edwards, must find the outlaws and their captive.
But how? He could not go to Thad and Bob for help. Natachee had made the
possible connection between the old prospectors and Sonora Jack too
clear. Even if he could have found his way in the night to Marta’s home,
he would not dare appeal to them. Saint Jimmy--George Wheeler and his
cowboys? It would be worse than useless for one of Hugh’s inexperience
to attempt to find his way such a distance through such a wild country
in the darkness of the night. He realized hopelessly that he did not
even know which way to start.
He decided at last that the only course possible for him was to wait
with what patience he could for the morning, and then to continue
following the tracks of the horses. He had barely reached this decision
and settled down in the poor shelter of a manzanita bush to pass the
long cold hours of discomfort and anxiety, when he saw, at some distance
down the mountain from where he sat, a strange glow of light.
It was not a camp fire. It was too soft--too diffused. It was not like
the light of that window which he had watched so many lonely hours. It
was not so steady and it was nearer--much nearer. He could see the trees
and bushes that fringed the top of a cliff. Why--that was it--the light
was from below--there was a fire at the foot of that cliff. He could not
see the fire itself because--why, of course--the cliff that was lighted
from below was the other side of a narrow gorge. He was too far away,
and the walls were too steep for him to see the bottom.
As quickly as possible, but with every care to make his movements
noiseless, Hugh Edwards stole toward the light. In a few minutes, that
seemed hours to him, he was close to the rim of the gorge. Lying flat on
the ground, he crawled with even greater caution to the edge of the
precipice, where through the fringe of grass and bushes he looked down.
The place was, as he had reasoned, a deep, narrow cañon with sheer walls
of rock. The cliffs on the side where he lay were fully fifty feet from
base to rim, and for about a hundred years they formed a half circle,
giving a width to the little cañon at that point of about the same
distance. At one end of this natural amphitheater, where a creek came
tumbling down over granite ledges and bowlders, a man with his arms
outstretched could almost touch both walls of the hall-like passage. The
lower end was wider, with no rocks to obstruct the entrance. Except for
the creek which ran close to the foot of the cliff opposite the
semicircular side where Hugh lay, the floor was smooth and level with a
number of mesquite trees and several giant cottonwoods. It was in the
more open center of this arena that Hugh Edwards saw a thing that made
him catch his breath with a shuddering gasp, while his heart pounded and
his hand went to the gun on his hip.
On a large, altar-shaped rock that had been dislodged from the walls
above by some force of nature, Natachee lay bound. The Indian was on his
back with his arms and legs drawn down and tied securely to the rock, so
that, save for his head, he was held immovable, but with no rope across
his body.
Sonora Jack stood beside the rock giving directions to his companions,
the Lizard and a Mexican, who were looking after the fire. Nearer the
entrance to the amphitheater were three saddle horses. On the opposite
side of the open space about the rock, and beyond the fire, the men had
placed their rifles against the trunk of a cottonwood. The eyes of the
man on the rim of the cañon wall had barely noted these details when
Sonora Jack turned from his companions by the fire to Natachee.
“Well,” he said, and every word carried distinctly to the man above,
“how about it, Indio, you got something to say, yet?”
Natachee did not speak.
“You not want to tell, heh? All right, you’re some bravo Indio, but you
goin’ to beg me to let you talk ’fore I get through with you. I got
nothin’ ’gainst you, but you know where that Mine with the Iron Door is
an’ sure as fire is hot you’re goin’ to lead me to it. I don’t come all
the way up here from Mexico City just for nothin’. You show me the old
mine, an’ you can put in the rest of your years growin’ old nice an’
easy. If you don’t--“ he paused significantly, then called to his two
helpers: “Put plenty mesquite on that fire, boys, we want plenty good
red coals. This Indio here needs a little warmin’ up, I think.” Bending
over his victim he said again: “Well, how ’bout it, you goin’ to come
through?”
Save for the glittering light in the dark eyes of the red man, the
outlaw might have been talking to a stone image.
Enraged by the silent strength of that opposing will, Sonora Jack went
closer to the Indian’s side.
“Mebby you no sabe what I’m goin’ to do to you. Mebby you think I got
you here on this rock just for a bluff. Not much, I ain’t. If you don’t
come across an’ show me that mine, I’m goin’ to put ’bout a hatful of
them red coals right here.” With his open hand he slapped Natachee’s
naked chest. “You do what I say or I burn the red heart out of you, an’
I ain’t hurryin’ the job neither. You ain’t the first mule-head hombre
I’ve made loosen up.”
Hugh Edwards drew back from the edge of the cliff. For a single instant
he was sick with horror. Then the blood of his race surged through his
veins with tingling strength. In that moment it meant nothing to him
that the man bound to the rock down there was an Indian. It made no
difference that the red man, with cunning cruelty, had for weeks
ingeniously tortured him to gratify a savage thirst for revenge against
all white people. He did not, at the moment, even remember Marta and his
need of Natachee’s help. It mattered nothing that there were three of
those fiends down there and that he was alone. He was conscious of but
one thing: a thing that was born of his white man’s soul. That deed of
unspeakable brutality must not--should not--be accomplished.
Swiftly he made his way along the rim of the cañon toward the upper end
of the semicircle. He felt as if he were acting in a dream, or as if
some spirit over which he had no control dominated him. But even as he
moved, a plan flashed before him, and he saw clearly every detail of the
only part he could play with the slightest hope of success. The narrow
passage through which the creek entered the amphitheater was hidden from
the men by the deep shadows of the trees. Their rifles were on that side
of the fire.
A short distance above the scene of the impending tragedy he found a
place where he could descend, half sliding, half falling, to the creek,
while the noise of the stream covered any sound from that direction. A
moment more and he had let himself down over the rocks and bowlders,
around which the waters roared, and stood behind the trunk of one of the
giant cottonwoods, not a hundred feet from the outlaw and his
companions. With sheer strength of will he restrained his impulse to
rush forward and throw himself upon those fiends in human form as they
bent over their fire.
He must wait. He must watch for the exact moment.
It was not long.
Sonora Jack, from the Indian’s side, called to his companions:
“Ya chito tray la lumbre--bring the fire.”
To Natachee, the outlaw said:
“One more time I ask you, Indio, are you goin’ to take me to the mine?”
There was no answer.
The Lizard and the Mexican raked a quantity of live coals from the fire
on to a flat rock.
Behind the tree, Hugh Edwards crouched in readiness.
The two men who were kneeling at the fire rose and started toward the
Indian. Sonora Jack faced toward his victim. It was the moment for which
the man behind the tree was waiting.
With all his strength, Hugh Edwards ran for the tree against which the
three rifles were standing. He reached his goal at the same instant that
the men with the coals of fire arrived at the rock.
With a shout, Hugh began emptying his revolver in the general direction
of the outlaws.
The Lizard, with a scream of terror, ran for the horses. The Mexican and
Sonora Jack, under the combined shock of that fusillade of shots from
the direction of their rifles, with those accompanying yells and the
Lizard’s screaming flight, leaped for the safety of their mounts. The
horses in their fright added to the confusion.
Dropping his revolver and snatching two of the rifles, Hugh ran forward
to the Indian. By the time Sonora Jack and his companions had succeeded
in mounting their struggling horses, he had cut the ropes that bound
Natachee, and the Indian and the white man, from the shelter of the
rock, were firing into the shadowy group of plunging animals and cursing
men.
As the outlaws disappeared in the darkness beyond the entrance to the
amphitheater, Natachee caught his rescuer by the arm:
“Quick, we must get out of this light before Sonora Jack gets hold of
himself.”
Swiftly he led the way up the creek.
* * * * *
An hour later, in the Indian’s cabin, Natachee stood before his white
companion. With an expression which Hugh Edwards had never before seen
on that dark countenance, the red man spoke in the manner of his
people.
“Before the winter snows came, a white rabbit was caught by an Indian
fox. The snows are gone and the rabbit has become a mountain lion. Why
has the lion saved his enemy, the fox, from Sonora Jack’s fire?”
“Why,” stammered Hugh, “I--I--really, you know, I couldn’t do anything
else. I saw the light, then I saw what those devils were going to do,
and--well--I simply couldn’t stand for it.”
“I, Natachee the Indian, have no claim on you, a white man. I have been
your enemy. I am an enemy to all of your blood. I have tortured you in
every way I knew. I would have continued to torture you.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” retorted Hugh coldly. “I didn’t do
what I did because I thought you were my friend.”
The Indian smiled with grave dignity.
“The live oak never drops its leaves like the cottonwood. The pine never
blossoms like the palo verde. A coyote in the skin of a bear would still
act like a coyote. A deer never forgets that it is not a wolf. You, Hugh
Edwards, saved me, your enemy, from the coals of fire, because you could
not forget your nature--because you could not forget that you are a
white man. I, Natachee, will not forget that I am an Indian.”
With these words he bowed his head and, turning, went to take his bow
and quiver of arrows from beside the fireplace.
Standing in the doorway, he spoke again:
“I must go. Sonora Jack will not come here again to-night. If he should,
I will be near. Sleep in peace. When I return I will have something to
tell you.”
* * * * *
All that following day, Hugh Edwards watched for another visit from
Sonora Jack and his companions, and waited with no little anxiety for
Natachee’s return.
But the outlaws did not come again. It was a little after noon the
second day when the Indian finally appeared. He was driving four burros
equipped with packsaddles.
When Hugh expressed surprise at sight of the pack animals, Natachee
offered no explanation. In stolid silence the Indian prepared his
dinner. He ate as if he had not touched food for many hours. When he had
finished he said simply:
“I must sleep. In two hours I will awaken. Then we will talk. Do not go
away from the cabin, please. Watch! If you see anything moving on the
mountain side, call me.”
He threw himself on his couch and almost instantly was sound asleep.
Hugh Edwards, sitting just outside the cabin door, waited.
A gentle wind breathed through the trees of juniper and live oak and
cedar and sighed among the cliffs and crags; and from below, faint and
far away, came the murmur of the distant creek. He saw the sunlight,
warm on the green of the cottonwoods and willows in the Cañon of Gold.
He watched the cloud shadows drifting across the mountain slopes and
ridges and, looking up to the high peaks, saw the somber pines against
the blue of the sky.
A rock wren from a bowlder near by observed him with friendly eye and
bobbed a cheerful greeting, and a painted redstart swung on a cat-claw
bush. From somewhere on the side of the gulch where he worked came the
exquisitely finished song of a grosbeak. The towering cliffs behind the
cabin echoed the hoarse croaking call of a raven and now and then there
was a flash of black and white and a bulletlike whiz, as a company of
white-throated swifts shot past.
But no human thing moved within the range of his vision.
As he watched, he pondered the meaning of the Indian’s manner. The red
man had often remained silent for days at a time. But now, under the
peculiar circumstances, Hugh felt that there was an unusual significance
in Natachee’s native reticence. What had the Indian been doing? Where
had he been? What had he learned? What was the meaning of those four
burros?
The deep voice of the Indian broke in upon his thoughts. Natachee was
standing in the doorway.